PLAYS 

far 

MERRY  ANDREWS 

By 
ALFRED  KREYMBORG 


NEW  YORK,  THE  SUNWISE  TURN 
1920 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


,v 


PLAYS 

for 

MERRY  ANDREWS 

By 
ALFRED  KREYMBORG 


NEW  YORK,  THE  SUNWISE  TURN 
1920 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,  1920 
BY  THE  SUNWISE  TURN 


Dramatic  Rights  Reserved  by  the  author.  For  permission 
to  Perform  any  of  these  plays,  address  the  author,  care  of 
the  publisher .  Infringement  of  copyrights  will  be  prosecuted. 


CONTENTS 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON, 

A  Toy  Play  ..........     .       5 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE, 

An  Unmorality  Play     ........     29 

UNEASY  STREET, 

A  Folk  Play  ....    ........     63 

THE  SILENT  WAITER, 

A  Tragi-Comedy      ......... 


MONDAY, 

A  Lame  Minuet  ..........   143 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 

m 
A  Toy  Play 


To  John  Reed  and  Louise  Bryant: 
In  return  for  a  mere  Russian  picture  postcard. 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 

A  Toy  Play 

<J» 

CHARACTERS 

THE  TOWN  CRIER 
BURGHER 
BURGESS 

CANDIDATE  BLUE 
CANDIDATE  RED 
THE  CATFISH 


The  stage  is  dark  and  noiseless    .    .    .   sud 
denly,  a  sound     .     .     .     like  the  sound  of  a  stealthy  step 
.    suddenly ,  another    .    .    .    like  the  sound  of  a  crier9 s 
bell    .    .    .    suddenly,  a  third    ...    the  sound  of  his  sing- 

song     .     .     . 

Burgher  and  Burgess  of  this  town — 
dark  has  been  dark  entirely  too  long- 
dark  has  been  dark  since  the  old  moon 

fell 
a-flung  to  the  river  and  a-gobbled  by  the 

Fish! 
Burgher  and  Burgess— return  from  your 

snooze — 

a  moon  helped  us  ever  to  see  in  the  dark! — 
snooze  too  long  and  you'll  snooze  your 

sight  away! — 

[7] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


a  burg  is  blind  sans  burgomaster! 
You  know  I'm  not   an   alliterative   pun 
ster! — 
the  affairs  of  this  realm  are  so  close  to  my 

heart, 
my  heart's  all  a-riddle  and  a-riddle  will 

remain, 
till  you  wake  this  election  and    vote  the 

new  moon! 

Light  comes  suddenly  .  .  .  behold  a 
town-crier  .  .  .  who  looks  like  a  scarecrow  .  .  .  or  a 
rag-doll  .  .  .  the  stage  is  bare  .  .  .  but,  like  a  magic 
property-man ,  he  makes  mathematic  passes  .  .  .  and 
behold,  in  accordance  with  his  next  address,  delivered  with 
mysterious  gusto  .  a  sequence  of  building-blocks 

.     beginning  with  a  gate     .     .     . 

You  wouldn't  be  there,  and  I  wouldn't  be 

here— 
if  this  were  not  a  play,  and  it  did  not  have 

a  plot — so: 

Here  I  stand  at  the  gate  to  our  town — 
let  me  step  inside  and  prove  it  such — so! 
Presto,  a  house — a-painted  blue — 
belongs  to  our  Burgher — you'll  see  him 

anon! 

Presto,  another — a-painted  red — 
belongs  to  our  Burgess — you'll  see  him 

too! 
Prestissimo,  a  third — a-painted  like  the 

first — 
belongs    to    one    candidate  —  Candidate 

Blue! 

[8] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


Prestissimo,  a  fourth — a-painted  like  the 

second — 

belongs  to  his  rival — Candidate  Red! 
The  fifth  house — summit! — with  the  belfry 

a-top — 
that's  the  town-hall  where  burgomasters 

dwell— 
hark  ye,  it's  been  empty,  since  we  slew  the 

last — 
look  down  the  lane,  and  you'll  see  a  purple 

strip — 
the  mystic  little  stream  where  we  throw 

them  when  they're  through — 
ex-burgomasters  and  defeated  candidates! — 
wherein  Red  or  Blue,  this  day,  is  gobbled 

by  the  Fish — 
our  longitudinous,  latitudinous,  altitudi- 

nous  God — 

half  of  Him  Cat,  half  of  Him  Fish, 
half  of  Him  fur,  half  of  Him  scales, 
half  of  Him  earth,  half  of  Him  water — 
half  of  Him  life — the  other  half — death!! 
This  isn't  moonlight — it's  mornlight,  or 

dawn! — 
later,  when  the  vote  begins,  the  dark  will 

return — 

then — suddenly — as  sudden  as  a  sword — 
what  looks  like  a  belfry  will  look  like  a 

moon — 

red  or  blue  the  color — and  the  dark  dis 
appear! 
Burgher,  always  for  the  blue,  Burgess  for 

[9] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


the  red — 
woe,  if  they  vote  no  moon — oblivion  would 

come!     . 

Burgher  and  Burgess  of  this  town — 
dark  has  been  dark  everlastingly  long — 
wake — it's  election  day — vote  your  new 

moon! 

One  for  the  blue — oh — one  for  the  red! 
He  raps  on  the  Citizens'  doors     .     .     . 

after    a    pause,    Burgher    and    Burgess  pop  out     .     .     . 

like  J  acks-in-the-box     .     .     .     the  one  in  blue,  the  other 

in  red     .     .     .     they  look  woefully  thin  and  sleepy     .     .     . 

their  responses  are  categorical     . 

CRIER —  Morrow — Burgher — what  means  this  tar 

diness  ? 

BURGHER  —      It  means  what  it  means — 

CRIER —  Morrow — Burgess — why  this  laggard  air? 

BURGESS  —       It  means  what  it  means — 

CRIER  —  Dolts — do  you  know  what  day  this  is  ? 

DUO  —  We — do — 

CRIER —  Oafs — aware  how  great  it  is? 

DUO  —  We — are — 

CRIER  —  Sensible  of  the  need  of  it  ? 

DUO  —  We — are — 

CRIER  —  Would  you  feel  the  loss  of  it  ? 

DUO  —  We — would — 

CRIER  —  How  would  you  feel  the  loss  of  it  ? 

BURGHER  —      We  wouldn't — 

BURGESS  —       Be  able  to  see — 

CRIER  —  Would  you  like  a  loss  like  that? 

DUO  —  We — would — 

CRIER  —  You — would  ? 

[10] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


DUO  —  We — would — 

CRIER  —  Louts  —  loons  --  blockheads  —  how  dare 

you  ? — 

are  you  deaf? — deaf  with  sleep? — repeat! 

WTould  you  like  a  loss  like  that  ? 
DUO  —  We — wouldn't — 

CRIER  —  Again — louder! 

DUO  —  We — wouldn't — 

CRIER —  Are  you  ready  for  the  vote? — pinch  your 

selves! 

DUO  —  We — are — 

CRIER —  Scratch  your  heads — kick  yourselves! 

DUO  —  We — are — 

CRIER —  Then  where  are  your  party  flags? — flown? 

-eh? 

DUO —  Oh! 

CRIER —  Oh! 

Two  pennants  .     a  blue  and  a  red 

.     wriggle  up  the  Citizens'  flag-poles     .     .     .    flutter 
at  the  tops     . 
CRIER —  Where  are  your  party  hammers? — eh? — 

oh? 

DUO —  Oh! 

CRIER —  Oh! 

Hammers     .     .     .     harmless    as    to    size 
.     appear  in  each  right  hand.     . 
CRIER  —  Will  you  vote  as  always  ? 

DUO  —  We — will — 

CRIER —  You,  Burgher,  vote  for  Blue? 

BURGHER  —      I — will — glory  to  the  moon! 
CRIER  —  You,  Burgess,  vote  for  Red  ? 

BURGESS  —       I — will — glory  to  the  moon! 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


CRIER  —  Citizens — lift  the  hammer!    Higher! — 

still  higher! — don't  smite  yet! — attention! 
They  had  begun  to  rap  each  other,  auto 
matically,  on  the  head     . 

First  let  me  hear  your  lilts — 
years  are  years — and  old  as  you  are — 
age  as  sleepy  and  stupid  as  yours — 
habit,  itself,  forgets  itself — now! 

BURGHER  —      One  for  the  blue — 

BURGESS  —       One  for  the  red — 

CRIER —  Good! 

BURGHER  —      One  for  the  blue — 

BURGESS  —       One  for  the  red — 

CRIER  —  That  will  do — 

BURGHER  —      One  for  the  blue — 

BURGESS  —       One  for  the — 

CRIER  —  That — will — do! 

Now — face  each  other — are  you  ready? 

DUO  —  We — are — 

ready  for  the  moon — 

CRIER  —  Citizens — beware — vote  honestly! 

They  rap  and  vote    .     .     .    ( one  for  the  blue, 

one  for  the  red9     .     >     .     but  as  they  proceed,  their  strokes 

and   voices   grow    feebler     .     .     .     meantime,    the    Crier, 

nodding  to  the  drowsy  tempo,  has  brought  his  attention  back 

to  the  audience     . 

One  for  the  blue — one  for  the  red — you 

hear, 

good  folk — we  shall  soon  see  our  moon — 
you  see — special  interest  is  felt    in  this 

hour — 
in  that  we've  had  up  to  the  present  hour — 

[12] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


one  for  the  blue — one  for  the  red — 
we've  had  up  to  the  present  era  of  our 

realm, 
seventy-two  blue  moons  and  seventy-two 

red!— 

so  that  particular  interest  invades  this  par 
ticular  election — 

one  for  the  blue — one  for  the  red — 
insofar  as  it  will  determine  definitely  and 

irrevocably — 

not  alone  who  shall  be  our  new  burgo 
master — 

but  which  shall  be  our  seventy-third! — 
which  definite  and  irrevocable  decision  is 

elicited, 
you  see — by  the  simplest,  the  most  naive 

process  in  history — 
of — one  for  the  blue — one  for  the  red — 
of  citizen  smiting  citizen  on  the  head — 
until  one  or  the  other  falls  insensible — 
Accidentally,   drowsily,   somehow  or  other 
.     .     .     the  Citizens  reverse  their  votes     .     .     . 
BURGHER  —      One  for  the  red — 
BURGESS  —       One  for  the  blue — 

CRIER  —  What's  that? — am  I  too  falling  asleep? — 

BURGHER  —      One  for  the  red — 

CRIER  —  In  consequence  of  this  indigenous  phenom 

enon — 
to  which  Solon  himself  would  have  bent 

homage — 

BURGESS  —       One  for  the  blue — 
CRIER  —  Am  I  dreaming? — excuse  me  while  I  listen! 

[13] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


The  Citizens  are  no  longer  drowsy     . 

they  have  stopped  hammering     .     .      .      their  voices,  under 
the  strange  influence  of  the  transposition  of  motives,  have 
grown  impudent     . 
BURGHER  —      One  for  the  red — 
BURGESS  —       One  for  the  blue — 
CRIER  —  Rones  of  dead  moonbeams — 

what  treachery  is  this  ? 
The   Citizens  stop   lilting   and   face   front 
.     .     the  hammers  fall  to  the  ground     .     .     . 
CRIER  —  Blood  of  the  sacred  stream — 

what  regicide  is  this  ? 
Burgher — what  do  you  mean  by,  one  for 

the  red — 

Burgess — you,  by,  one  for  the  blue? 
BURGHER —      I  mean — 
BURGESS  —       I  mean — 
CRIER  —  What  do  you  mean  ? 

BURGHER  —      We  mean — 
BURGESS  —       We're  tired — 
CRIER —  Tired? 

BURGHER  —      Of  old  moons — 
BURGESS  —       We  want — 
CRIER  —  You  want  ? — 

DUO  —  A  new  moon! 

CRIER  —  Clowns — you'll  have  a  new  moon  ? 

DUO —  We'll  not! 

CRIER —  Aren't  you  voting  for  one? 

DUO —  We're  not! 

CRIER —  This  is  perplexing — amazing — dumfound- 

ing! 
Dotards — what  then  are  you  voting  for? 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


DUO  — 
CRIER  - 

DUO- 
CRIER  — 


DUO  —  The  same  old  moon — 

BURGHER  —      A  blue  moon — 
BURGESS  —       Or  a  red — 
CRIER  —  You  two  are  in  league — 

you  want  a  change? — ha! 

Burgher — you  want  a  red  now — 

Burgess — you  a  blue? 

How  would  that  be  a  change  ? 

It  wouldn't— 

Then  you  don't  want  a  change  ?— 

Imbeciles — what  do  you  want  ?— 

A  change 

Ha — numbskulls — idiots — dissemblers — 

elucidate  yourselves — your  do  and  don't — 

spit  it  out — or  I'll  march  you  down  the 
lane— 

into  the  river — into  the  Fish! 
DUO  -  Br! 

CRIER  -  Ha — begin ! 

Hiding  behind  each  other  in  turn  and  nudg 
ing    each    other  with  secret  encouragement     .     .      .     they 
speak     .     .     .     with   an    obviousness    bordering    on    mys 
tery,  an  innocence  on  roguery     . 
BURGHER-        Cheese,  though  it  melt,  will  always  be 

cheese — 
BURGESS  —       Milk  left  standing  too  long  always  turns 

sour — 
BURGHER  —      A  dog  with  four  legs  always  runs  on  four 

legs- 

BURGESS  —       An  arm  is  always  as  long  as  it  reaches — 
CRIER  —  This  is  cataclysmic — what  does  it  mean  ? 

DUO  —  It  means  what  it  means — 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


BURGHER  —      If  hair  falls  out,  a  head  grows  bald — 

BURGESS  —       A  knife  cuts  bread,  it  doesn't  cut  water — 

CRIER  —  Ah — I  begin  to  see — you're  tired  ? 

DUO  —  We're  tired — 

CRIER  —  Tired  of  the  old  ways  ? — 

DUO  —  Old  way — 

CRIER  —  Old  moons  ? — 

DUO  —  Old  moon — 

CRIER —  Laws,  customs,  routine? — 

DUO  —  Old  everything! 

CRIER  —  I  perceive  your  abracadabra — 

DUO  —  You — do  ? 

CRIER —  Hm! 

DUO  —  Hm  ? 

CRIER —  Hm! 

The  Crier  needs  more  than  a  moment's  re 
flection  .  .  .  shakes  his  head  .  .  .  suddenly,  he 
flaps  his  sides  like  a  rooster,  and  then  raps  at  the  doors  of  the 
Candidates  .  .  .  after  a  pause,  they  issue  forth,  dressed 
respectively  in  blue  and  red  .  .  .  although  they  also 
look  like  Jacks-in-the-box,  they  have  apparently  more  dig 
nity  than  the  Citizens  .  .  .  but  like  them,  they  appear 
woefully  thin  and  sleepy  . 
BLUE  —  Which  of  us — wins  ? 

RED  —  Which  of  us — dies  ? 

CRIER  —  Neither! 

DUO  —  Neither  ? 

CRIER —  The  vote  was  interrupted — 

BLUE  —  Then  why — are  we  called  ? 

RED —  An  astonishing — precedent  surely — 

BLUE  —  Never  heard  of  before — 

RED  —  Nor  written  either — 

[16] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


BLUE  —  It's  not — in  the  charter — 

RED  —  The  laws — statutes — decrees — 

CRIER  —  Silence — debate  comes  later — 

attention  first  to  the  rigmarole! 
BLUE  —  The — rigmarole  ? 

RED —  On — election  day? 

BLUE  —  Never  heard  of  before — 

RED  —  Nor  written  either — 

DUO —  It's  illegal! 

CRIER  —  Silence — heed  the  official  oath — 

strike  your  traditional  poses  and  paces, 

as  if  it  weren't  election — now! 

The  Candidates  adhere  to  the  methodical  pos 
tures  and  movements  required  by  the  rigmarole     . 
CRIER —  Make  of  your  lips 

a  hard  straight  line; 

parallel  with  them  your  eyes; 

make  of  your  cheeks  and  chin 

two  strict  right  angles, 

and  of  your  ears  and  nose 

two  more; 

have  the  part  in  your  hair 

diameter  your  head, 

forehead,  nose,  lips  and  chin; 

stick  your  arms 

to  your  thorax  and  thighs. 

Have  your  legs  move, 

since  move  they  must, 

in  imperceptible  perpendiculars, 

like  hidden  two-four  pendulums. 

And  some  day, 

so  dignified  a  structure 

[17] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


BLUE  — 

RED 

CRIER  - 

RED 

BLUE  — 

RED 

BLUE  — 
CRIER  - 

DUO 

CRIER  - 


DUO 

CRIER  - 

DUO  — 
CRIER  - 
BLUE  — 
RED 

CRIER  - 

DUO 

CRIER  - 

DUO 

CRIER- 


DUO 

CRIER  - 
DUO 


will  be  hailed, 

Burgomaster! 

Now  then! 

Let  us  crawl  back  to  bed! 

Sirrahs! 

I'm  so  sleepy — 

So  am  I — 

No  hour  to  call  a  candidate — 

It's  too  early — not  yet  dark — 

Precisely! 

Precisely? 

Cease  your  prate — while  I  disclose — 

this  most  stupendous — most  stupefying — 

this  super-superlative  phenomenon! 

Eh? 

Eye   those   two   culprits — do  you   know 

them  ? 
We— do! 

Do  you  recall  haranguing  them  ? 
Many  a  time — 
And  often! 

What  has  been  ever  and  always 
the  cause  for  your  haranguing  them? 
The— vote! 
Which  vote  ? 
The  vote  for  me! 
Now,  politic  sirs — 
do  you  admit  the  following  items  ? 
Dark  is  dark  without  a  moon  ? 
We— do! 

A  burg  is  blind  sans  burgomaster  ? 
We— do! 


[18 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


CRIER  —  What  elects  the  burgomaster? 

DUO  —  The- — vote! 

CRIER  —      ,     Who  select  the  vote  ? 

DUO  —  The — voters ! 

CRIER  —  And  who  and  what  elect  the  moon  ? 

DUO  —  I — do — 

by  vote  of  the  voters! 

CRIER  —  How  do  you  attain  this  dignity? 

BLUE  —  Through  numerical  superiority — 

RED  —  And  the  smiting  insensible! 

CRIER  —  Gaze  upon  yon  twain! 

They  do  so     .     .     .     with  a  heightening 
consciousness  of  the  situation     . 
CRIER  —  Have  you  gazed  ? 

DUO  —  We — have ! 

CRIER  —  Do  you  begin  to  discover  the  prodigy? 

DUO  —  We — don't ! 

CRIER  —  Dolts — gaze  again — steadfastly — 

do  you  recognize  yon  twain  ? 
DUO  —  Most  adorable  constituent — 

BLUE  —  Burgher  mine — 

RED  —  Burgess  mine — 

CRIER  —  No  longer  yours! 

DUO  —  Eh  ? 

CRIER  —  Candidate  Blue — 

do  you  see  Burgess  insensible  ? 
BLUE  —  Alas — I  do  not! 

CRIER  —  What  does  that  mean  ? 

BLUE  —  It  means — I  lose — I  die — 

CRIER  —  It  does  not! 

BLUE —  Eh? 

CRIER  —  Candidate  Red — 

[19] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


do  you  see  Burgher  insensible  ? 

RED  —  I  do  not — ah  me! 

CRIER  —  What  does  that  mean  ? 

RED  —  It  means — I  lose — I  die — 

CRIER —  It  does  not! 

RED  —  Eh  ? 

CRIER  —  Addle-pates — 

it  means — they  haven't  voted— 

BLUE  —  To  be  sure — 

RED  —  It's  too  early — 

BLUE  —  Not  yet  dark — 

CRIER  —  It  means — they  have  refused  to  vote — 

DUO  —  Refused  ? 

CRIER  —  Burgher  refuses  to  vote  for  Blue — 

BLUE  —  Burgher! 

CRIER  —  Burgess  refuses  to  vote  for  Red — 

RED —  Burgess! 

CRIER  —  Contrariwise — 

Burgher  refuses  to  turn  to  Red — 

RED  —  Burgher! 

CRIER  —  Burgess  refuses  to  turn  to  Blue — 

BLUE  —  Burgess! 

CRIER —  Do  I  speak  truth — demogrades? 

CITIZENS  —  You  do! 

BLUE  —  Amazing — 

RED  —  Dumfounding — 

CRIER  —  That's  what  I  said — now — 

it  means  furthermore — 

DUO  —  Furthermore  ? 

CRIER  —  That  ye  twain  are  to  blame — 

DUO  —  We — are  ? 

CRIER  —  Your  haranguing's  to  blame — was — 

[20] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


it  was  non-sufficient — non-alluring — 
non-sufficient  to  sway  the  hearts  of  two 

dolts- 
non-alluring   towards   the   votes    of  two 

dolts — 
dolts  can't  move  dolts! 

DUO  —  Eh  ? 

CRIER  —  Citizens — do  I  speak  further  truth? 

DUO  —  You  do! 

BLUE  —  My  haranguing — 

RED  —  My  eloquence — 

BLUE  —  My  silvery  phraseology — 

RED  —  My  golden  rhodomontade — 

BLUE  —  Inspirational  of  ages  past — 

RED  —  Polished,  beautified,  perfected — 

BLUE  —  Non-sufficient  ? 

RED  —  Non-alluring  ? 

CRIER —  Precisely! 

DUO  —  What  does  it  signify  ? 

CRIER —  It   signifies — and   grievous   the   significa 

tion — 
you'll  have  to  harangue  all  over  again! 

QUARTETTE —  Bones  of  dead  moonbeams! 

CRIER  —  Would  you  have  dark  remain  dark? 

QUARTETTE  —    Br! 

CRIER —  Would  you  have  oblivion  come? 

QUARTETTE  —    Br!! 

CRIER  —  Would  you  have  the  sacred  stream — 

and  the  sacred  purple  Catfish — 

QUARTETTE  —    Br!!! 

CRIER  —  You  begin  to  look  like  eels — 

nocturnal,  toothsome  eels? 

[21] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


Shall  the  Catfish  gobble  you  ? 

QUARTETTE Br!!! 

CRIER  —  Gaze  upon  the  belfry — 

it  is  empty,  is  it  not  ? 

Citizens — do    you    want    to    see    a    new 
moon  ? — 

even  a  dainty  sliver  of  a  moon  ? 
DUO  —  We  do! 

CRIER  —  Candidates — do  you,  too,  want  to  see — : 

DUO  —  We  do! 

CRIER  —  All  ensemble — do  you  want  to  see — 

QUARTETTE  We  do!! 

CRIER  —  How  will  you — and  when? 

CANDIDATES  —  By  haranguing — 
CITIZENS  —       By  voting! 

CRIER —  Paladins  of  this,   our   realm — gird   your 

tongues — 

retainers  of  this,  our  realm — your  ears! 

Do  you  gird  ? 

QUARTETTE We  do!! 

CRIER —  Speak — great  spellbinders! 

Wearily,  the  Candidates  make  the  effort  of 
speaking     .     .     .     warily,  the  Citizens,  the  effort  of  listen 
ing     .     .     .     the  Crier  furtively  watching  the  latter     . 
BLUE  —  I  come  to  you  to-day— 

RED  —  I  come  to  you  this  day — 

BLUE  —  With  a  profound  appeal  to  your  discrimi 

nation — 
RED —  With  the   lofty  purpose  of  lifting  your 

thoughts  on  high — 

BLUE  —  With  the  special  intention  of  nobly  cate 

chising  you — 

[22] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


RED  —  Towards  the  duties  and  pleasures  of  the 

honored — 
BLUE  —  In  the  duties  and  joys  of  those  conferring 

honor — 

RED  —  I  who  come  to  you  this  day — 

BLUE  —  On  me  who  come  to  you  to-day — 

DUO  —  In  behalf  of  the  new-moon-to-be— 

RED  —  The  red  moon— 

BLUE  —  The  blue  moon! 

They  glare  at  each  other  momentarily    .    .    . 
like  skinny  dogs  closing  over  the  same  old  bone     . 
BURGHER  (sotto  voce)  —  It's  they  who  are  in  league! 
BURGESS  (ditto)  — They  who  conspire! 
BURGHER  —      Each  speaks  like  t'other — 
BURGESS  —       Each  mouths  like  t'other — 
CRIER  —  Silence — babblers ! 

CANDIDATES Eh? 

CRIER  —  Not  ye — continue — majestic  your  orations ! 

BLUE  —  It  is  difficult — 

RED  —  Very  difficult — 

BLUE  —  I've    always    spoken    alone — to    Burgher 

alone — 

RED  —  I  alone  to  Burgess  alone! 

This  is  sorely  non-customary— 

BLUE  —  Non-conformative — 

RED  —  Unwritten — 

BLUE  —  Unspoken — 

CRIER  —  Ye  are  noble  as  swans- 

sailing  down-stream — 
sailing  to  victory — sailing  to  death — 

RED  —  I  don't  mind  dying— 

BLUE  —  I've  done  it  before — 

[23] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


your   perora- 


RED  —  I  mind  not  sleeping — 

BLUE  —  Not  finishing  sleeping — 

BURGHER  —  Fraudulent — 

BURGESS  —  Frauds — 

CRIER  —  Silence — rabble ! 

CANDIDATES Eh? 

CRIER  —  Not   ye — continue — inflate 

tions! 

RED  —  I  need  hardly  testify — 

BLUE  —  Quite  superfluous  the  occasion — 

RED  —  That  the  moon  I  glorify — 

BLUE  —  Of  celebrating  the  personality — 

RED  —  That  all-seeing  crimson  semi-circle — 

BLUE  —  Of  the  all-cleaving  azure  scimitar — 

RED  —  Infesting  all-dark  with  all-light — 

BLUE  —  Hewing,  slashing  all-black  with  all-white — 

RED  —  Incontestably  bringing  day  to  your  night — 

BLUE  —  Bedecking  your  heads  with  splinters  so 

bright — 

BURGHER  —      You  hear  ? — 
BURGESS  —       How  they  rhyme  ? — 
CANDIDATES  —  And  making  manifest  to  you — 

They  stop  and  glower  at  each  other     .     .     . 
try  to  glower     . 
RED —  The    potency    of   rouge  —  impotence    of 

bluish — 
BLUE  —  Eh,  of  sapphire,  turquoise,  lapis  lazuli? — 

impotence  of  pinkish! — 
RED —  Eh,   of  scarlet,   carbuncle,   flush  of  the 

rose  ? — 

BLUE  —  Flush  of  the  tomato! — 

RED  —  Red  which  brings  blushes  to  women — 

[24] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


love  and  desire  to  men? — 
BLUE  —  Blue  which  kindles  the  eyes  of  women — 

kindles  the  veins  of  men  ? — 

RED  —  Blue  which  you  taste  in  milk,  half  water  ? — 

BURGHER —      Milk    left    standing    too    long    turns    to 

water — 

BLUE  —  Burgher!    I'm  aghast! 

BURGESS  —       Red  sunsets  are  made  of  dead  dawns — 
RED —  Burgess!    I'm  smitten! 

CANDIDATES  —  What  does  this  mean? 
CRIER  —  Louder,   mutes — harangue   them — silence 

them — 

deafen  them — deaden  them! — 
CANDIDATES  —  Damn  them! 
CITIZENS  —       Damn  theml 
CANDIDATES  —  Damn  them  to  the  moon — 
CITIZENS  —       Damn  them  to  the  moon — 
CANDIDATES  - —  Damn  them  to  the  river — 
CITIZENS  —       Damn  them  to  the  Catfish — 
CANDIDATES  —  Oh,  damn  the  Catfish!— 
CRIER  —  Mutiny — insurrection — revolution — 

homicide — fratricide — patricide ! — 

sacred  purple  Cat — sacred  purple  Fish — 

pardon — mercy — mercy — pardon ! — 
QUARTETTE  —  Damn  the  Catfish!! 
CRIER —  Sacrilege!! 

Immediately       .       .       .      from  the  river 
.     .     .     there  comes  an  ominous  crescendo     .     .     .     swish 
.     .     .     swish     .     .     .    flop     . 
QUARTETTE  —  What  was  that  ? 
CRIER  —  Save  yourselves — 

harangue — vote — vote — harangue — 

1*5 -1: 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


or  vengeance  will  fall! — 

vote — harangue — harangue — vote — 

death  and  perdition — 

voices — lungs — bellows — roar ! 

Darkness    shrouds    the    scene  .     a 

weird   violet    light    creeps  from    the    river     .     .     .     rises 
gradually     .     .     .     like  a  spectre     . 
CRIER  —  The  light — the  fumes— 

the  dead  are  rising — 

moons — burgomasters — people — 

the  blue — the  red — all  purple! 
RED  —  V-vote  for  the  blue  moon — 

I  m-mean  for  the  red — 
BLUE  —  V-vote  for  the  red  moon — 

I  m-mean  for  the  blue — 
CRIER  —  Blunderers! 

BURGHER  —      One  for  the  purple— 
BURGESS  —       One  for  the  purple — 
BURGHER  —      One  for  the  purple — 
BURGESS  —       One  for  the  purple — 
CRIER—  Blasphemers! — 

an  evil  spirit's  got  you! — 

Fish — mercy — pardon — 
CANDIDATES  —  V-vote  for  the  Fish! — 
CITIZENS  —       One  for  the  purple — 

One  for  the  purple — 

The  sound  of  hammer  blows  grows  louder, 
more  rapid     .     .     .    din     .     .     .    clatter     .     .     .    groans 

CRIER  —  Burgher — Burgess — 

smite  each  other \ — not  them! — 
each  other! — can't  you  see? 

[26] 


VOTE  THE  NEW  MOON 


BURGHER—        Die,  dog! — 
CRIER  —  Burgher— 

you've  killed  him — 

your  man — your  moon — 
BURGHER  —      And  Fll  gobble  him! — 
BURGESS  —       Die,  dog!— 
CRIER  —  Burgess — 

you've  killed  him— 

your  man — your  moon— 
BURGESS —       Fll  devour  him! 
CRIER  —  I  hear  crunching  of  bones! — 

help — murder — cannibals — ghouls ! — 

Burgher's  swallowed  Blue — Burgess, 
Red! 

now  they're   eating  each  other!! — 
BURGHER  —      Crunch  for  the  purple — 
BURGESS  —       Crunch  for  the  purple — 
CRIER  —  Speak — Burgher — Burgess — 

which  is  it  ? 

which  swallowed  which  ? — 
CATFISH  (in  sepulchral  tone)  — The — Fish!! 

I — swallowed — them  all!! 
CRIER  —  Monster! — demon!— 

save  me! — spare  me!! 
CATFISH  —        Fll  spare  you! 

My  belly's  full! 

The  violet  has  deepened  to  purple     . 

one  can  now  see  a  huge,  misshapen  figure     .     .     .     four 
times  the  girth  of  Candidates  and  Citizens     .     .     .     a  com 
plete    purple    resemblance     .     .     .     with    appendages    of 
whiskers,  fins  and  tail     . 
CRIER  —  My  Master — King — 

[27] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


CATFISH  —        Your — Fate ! 
Down — dog! 

The  Crier  falls  on  all  fours  .     so 

does  the  Catfish     . 
CATFISH  —        To  the  town  hall! 
CRIER  —  To  the — town — hall! 

He  crawls  to  the  entrance  of  the  town  hall 
.     the  Catfish  follows  pompously  .     the  Crier 

throws  open  the  door     .     .     .     announces     .     .     . 

The  new  B-burgomaster! 

The  Catfish  enters  .  .  .  instanta 
neously,  a  moon  appears  in  the  belfry  .  .  .  purple 
.  .  .  the  Crier  sees  it  and  rises  .  .  . 

The  new  M-moon! 

Purple! 

Color  of  kingship ! 

Woe!! 

A  frightful  hubbub  inside  the  hall     . 

What  does  it  mean  ? — 

what — is  it — now? 

He  disappears  .     the  hubbub  ceases 

.  .  .  .  suddenly,  the  ghostly,  terror-stricken  face  of  the 
Crier  appears  in  the  belfry  .  .  .  like  a  Jack-in-the-box 
moon-face  profile  .  he  pulls  the  invisible  rope,  and 

the  bell  tolls  .  .  .  more  like  a  dirge,  than  a  paean 
,.  .  .  he  tries  to  sing-song  categorically  .  .  . 

H-hark  ye — h-hear  ye — 

the  old  moon  is  d-dead — 

1-long  live — the  n-new!! 

CURTAIN. 

[28] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


An  Unmorality  Play 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB 
AND  NOSE 

An  Unmorality  Play 


AL  QUE  QUIERE! 

Sandpapered  with  the  affection  of  his  ego, 
this  gentle  screed  is  dedicated  by  its 
author  for  the  scratching  of  the  egos  of: 

CONRAD    AIKEN, 

ORRICK  JOHNS, 

CARL    SANDBURG, 

WALLACE    STEVENS, 

WILLIAM    CARLOS    WILLIAMS 

in  distinction  of  and  contradistinction  to: 

JESSIE    AIKEN, 
GRACE   JOHNS, 
LILLIAN    SANDBURG, 
ELSIE    STEVENS, 
FLORENCE    WILLIAMS, 
DOROTHY    KREYMBORG 

whom  it  may  concern! 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB 
.AND  NOSE 

An  Unmorality  Play 


CHARACTERS 
EGO,  the  innkeeper. 

twins  who  desire  the  same  lady. 


PROPER       1 


IMPROPER    J 

BELLY,  who  cannot  eat. 

LAZY,  who  cannot  dream. 

FASTIDIOUS,  whose  intellect  is  awry. 

LADY,  who  desires  not  Proper  and  Improper. 

A  small  inn,  anyhow,  anywhere,  anytime; 
bar,  with  kitchen  beyond,  through  a  door;  three  or  jour  tables; 
the  dingy  atmosphere  of  a  cellar;  the  symbol  of  the  inn  over 
the  bar.  A  door  of  ingress  and  egress.  Forlorn-looking 
denizens:  Proper  and  Lazy  at  one  table,  with  a  manuscript 
between  them;  Improper  and  Belly  at  another,  the  latter  eat 
ing  and  drinking;  Fastidious  at  a  third,  smoking  an  aristo 
cratic  cheroot;  Ego  behind  the  bar,  irascibly  cleaning  mugs 
and  glasses.  Their  physical  attributes,  bearing  and  attire 
characteristically  grotesque.  They  might  be  mistaken  for 
gargoyles  on  a  holiday. 

The  tempo  is  that  of  a  pompous  dynamo 
rollicking. 

PROPER  —  Disaster  again,  good  Lazy?    Gods  of  ca 

lamity — what  is  it  this  time  ? 

[33] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


LAZY  — 


PROPER 


FASTIDIOUS  — 

IMPROPER 

BELLY 

PROPER 

LAZY 

PROPER 


FASTIDIOUS  — 
IMPROPER 


The  same  tearful  extremity,  Proper — 

though  a  strong  phrase  or  two  put  to  sea 

they'll  split  on  mere  commas  when 
stupidity  blows! 

Your  compass  is  clouded,  that's  all,  for 
the  nonce — 

wipe  it  off — still  finer  phrases  will  gleam 

like  galleons  —  captain  them  haven 
ward! 

I'll  be  utterly  and  abysmally  undone — 

I  told  her  I'd  bring  her  a  poem  so 
ethereal, 

breathed  upon  by  my  ineffable  thought 
of  her, 

housed  in  the  safe  bark  of  your  well- 
ribbed  artistry — 

Overburdened  with  adjectives,  cavilling 
metaphors — 

Doddering  moonshine,  Fastidious — 

I  can't  eat,  I  can't  drink — 

I  vowed  her  I'd  bring  it  this  night  to  her 
lattice! 

She  rejected  my  others  as  were  she  an 
editrice! 

The  sin  was  mine,  not  yours,  good 
Lazy— 

Now,  this  latest  and  most  shimmeringly 
seductive  of  all  the  products  of  my 
love  and  your  invention — 

sends  forth  fragrance  of  hyacinths — 

Exhalation  of  ineptitude — 

Stench  of  chicken  entrails — 


34 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


BELLY  — 

PROPER 


FASTIDIOUS  - 

IMPROPER 

BELLY 

PROPER 

EGO 


IMPROPER 

EGO 


BELLY 

FASTIDIOUS 


LAZY 

EGO 


FASTIDIOUS 


My  palate's  green,  my  appetite   pink — 

Silence,  ye! 

The  start  is  so  winsome,  sweet  Lazy — 

lilt  it  aloud  once  again, 

and  the  coda  will  come  of  the  da  capo! 

No! 

No! 

No! 

Master,  I  appeal  to  you,  Master! 

Silence,  you — with  your 

once  again,  once  more,  once  again! 

You  scapegrace,  tatterdemalion — 

you  and  your  love  and  your  twin  and  his 

lust! 

Master — 
Silence,  you! 

Dupe  that  I  was  to  raise  the  latch 
of  free  hospitality  to  you  twain! 
They've  soured  my  stomach  so  food 

tastes  like  offal — 
It  has  become  an  impossibility 
for  my  intellectural  apparatus  to  pursue 
its  accustomed  mazes — 
I  cannot  dream,  cogitate,  compose — 
This  tavern  is  twined  and  snarled 
with  a  bedlam  of  cantankerous  idiots — 
this  exquisite  domicile  I  erected 
to  the  repose  of  liberty,  independence, 

selfhood — 
A  place  for  an  impersonal  contemplation 

of  the  interior — 
and  a  corresponding  scorn  of  the  ex- 

[35] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


tenor — 

BELLY  —  I  am  I  and  to  Hell  with  all  else — 

EGO  —  Dedicated  to  the  art  of  being  wholly 

oneself — 

FASTIDIOUS  —      Regardless  of  aeons  or  eternity — 
EGO  —  Is   threatened   with   destruction    by   a 

female! 

PROPER  —  Is  raised  to  lordhood  by  a  lady — 

BELLY  —  A  bandy-legged  she-bitch — 

FASTIDIOUS  —      Through  sexual  aberration — 
EGO  —  The  wanting  of  wantons — 

PROPER  —  I  do  not  want  her — 

IMPROPER  —         I  want  her — 
PROPER  —  I  want  her  for  herself — 

what  I  can  be  for  her — 
IMPROPER  —         I  want  her  for  myself — 

what  she  can  be  for  me — 
PROPER  —  I  want  myself  for  her — 

IMPROPER  —         Damn  herself — I  want  myself — 
LAZY  —  Stop  them,  Master — 

BELLY —  They're  belching  again — 

FASTIDIOUS  —      Their  rondo  deafens  me — 
PROPER  —  She'd  love  me  if  it  weren't  for  him — 

IMPROPER  —         I'd  have  her  if  it  weren't  for  him — 
EGO  —  Silence,    you    two — and    silence,    you 

three! 

Give  heed  while  I  lilt  my  dainty  screed, 
undistrubed  by  ship-wrecking  semi 
colons! 

Fancy  my  faith  and  the  labor  I've  con 
secrated  being  smirched  by  heretic 
slammerkins — 

[36] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


I'll  clean  you  two  mugs  or  throw  you  to 

the  gutter! 
Fancy   the    I    being   touched    by   the 

thought  of  a  you,  whether  woman, 

world,  time  or  the  gods  themselves! 
Have  your  hearts  turned  to  cows,  your 

senses  to  milking  ? 
I'll    be   fair   with   you   two,    and   you 

three — 
Fll  rehearse  our  credo  judicially,  little 

though  you  deserve  it!    Attention 

to  the  catechism! 
To  what  are  we  canonized  ? 
THE  COMPANY  —  The  self! 

Proper,  what  is  the  self? 
The  right  to  individuality  and  the  ex 
pression  thereof. 

Improper,  how  is  this  right  manifested  ? 
What  the  I  feels,  thinks  or  wants, 
the  I  is  free  to  feel,  think  or  want — 
regardless  of  neighbors. 
Neighbors,  ah — and  what  are  neighbors, 

Lazy? 
Any  body  or  thing  which  isn't  the  I, 

and — 
Any    body   or   thing   which    interferes 

with  the  I ! 

You  needn't  respond,  Fastidious — 
you're  conscience  itself  in  our  midst! 
Belly,  how  does  the  self  premonstrate  in 

you? 
BELLY  —  I  maintain  a  stomach,  and  ways  to  that 


EGO  — 

PROPER 

EGO 

IMPROPER 


EGO 


LAZY 


FASTIDIOUS 


EGO  


37 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


EGO  — 
LAZY  — 


EGO 

FASTIDIOUS 


EGO 


IMPROPER  - 

PROPER 

EGO 

IMPROPER  - 


PROPER 


stomach — 

they  are  hungry — I  eat  and  drink — 

the  stomach  and  its  ways  go  back  to 
sleep! 

Lazy,  how  premonstrate  in  you  ? 

If  I  do  not  dream,  there's  no  concern  for 
the  morrow, 

without  which  concern  for  the  morrow, 
to-day  dies! 

Cleverly  vocalized— and  you,  Fastid 
ious — 

If  I  weren't  a  logician,  there'd  be  no 
concern  for  to-day, 

without  which  to-day,  to-morrow  would 
never  be  born! 

Brave  pragmatist,  your  job  is  no  simple 
ton's! 

Improper — 

I've  no  teeth  for  masticating  theories — 

Nor  I! 

Mutiny! 

The  self  remonstrates  in  me — 

my  blood's  a  torrent  with  it — my  senses 
wild  hounds — 

the  flesh  I  crave  has  the  shape  of  a 
woman — 

a  terrible  creature  with  eyes,  mouth, 
arms,  limbs — 

A  being  more  vaporous  than  perfume — 

to  whom  I  pray  as  were  she  a  goddess, 

to  whom  I  shall  throw  my  carcass, 

impediment  of  my  spirit — 

[38] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 

as  sacrifice  of  my  self  to  her  self — 
EGO —  Sacrilegists! 

PROPER  —  Would  you  have  us  ape  what  we  no 

longer  believe  ? 

EGO  —  Conspirators ! 

IMPROPER —         Ape  the  sanctimonious,  like  Fastidious? 
FASTIDIOUS  —       Sirrah! 
EGO  —  Infidels — atheists — 

PROPER  —  Freethinkers — 

IMPROPER  —         Latitudinarians ! 

Ego  comes  forward  and  stations  himself 
behind  Fastidious. 
EGO  —  Numskulls — 

how  can  thought  be  free,   slave  to  a 

woman  ? 
PROPER  —  I  am  no  longer  I — I  am  she — 

and  freer  than  ever  I  was  in  this  den! 
IMPROPER  —         I'll  turn  her  into  me — and  me  into  her — 

and  be  the  bigger  I  for  it — 

BELLY  —  Like  a  body  plus  a  round  fat  squab! 

EGO  —  This  is  insurrection! 

Wash  you  two  clean  or  throw  you  to  the 
gutter  ? 

I  have  gentler  eloquence  for  preaching 
mug-souls! 

He  points  a  piratical  six-shooter  at  the 
twins  and  waves  it  about  with  humorous  carelessness. 
THE  COMPANY  —  Master,  Master! 
PROPER  —  Spare  us — 

IMPROPER  —         Spare  us — 
PROPER  —  Excellency! 

IMPROPER  —         Sovereign ! 

[39] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


EGO  —  (slipping  the  weapon  out  of  sight) — 

You  recall  a  tune  I  adore. 
I  thought  you'd  forgotten  it — 
maybe  you  have!     Lazy, 
the  friendly  little  air  you  composed  years 

ago— 

will  you  beat  choir-master? 

LAZY  —  That  was  in  the  days  of  rhyme,  sir! 

FASTIDIOUS  —       Rhyming  was  law  till  you  turned  icono 
clast! 
THE  COMPANY  —  (as  Lazy  beats  time) — 

Master  Ego,  Master  Ego, 
we  are  you,  and  you  are  we-oh! 
BELLY —  I  am  the  body  which  provideth  thee 

nourishment — 
FASTIDIOUS  —       I  the  cool  brain  which  counseleth  thy 

flourishment — 
LAZY —  I    the    high    bird   which   wingeth    thy 

soul — 
THE  TWINS  • —       We  the  harriers  which  bring  thee  thy 

dole- 

THE  COMPANY  —  Sovereign  Ego,  Sovereign  Ego, 
we  are  you,  and  you  are  we-oh! 

FASTIDIOUS  —      That  couplet  still  smiteth  my  ear-drum! 
EGO  —  And  now,  gentlemen — 

setting  aside  the  prerogative  of  matter 

over  spirit — 
ready  as  I  am  to  admit  my  haste  in  the 

introduction  of  the  firearm — 
and  assuming,  instead,  that  there's  a 
moiety  of  excuse  for  the  condition, 
and  the  action  consequent  thereupon,  of 

[40] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


LAZY  — 

BELLY  — 
EGO 


FASTIDIOUS  — 
EGO  — 


our  beloved  culprits — 
Adorable  Proper — 
Good  my-brother  Properim — 
A  condition  we  cannot  easily  surmise, 
so  strange  is  its  intrusion  in  this  hallowed 

place — 

Perdition  take  all  non-conformity — 
Setting  aside  the  firearm  as  primitive, 

primeval — 
let   us   approach   this   affair  with   the 

beneficent  taper  of  civilized  justice. 
It  is  possible  our  society  has  grown  a 

trifle  complex. 
With  complexity,  a  certain  measure  of 

discomfiture  will  invade  its  person. 
Elements  in  themselves  are  as  pure  as 

little  children, 

but  when  elements  begin  to  assert  them 
selves — 
as  is  only  natural  of  them  under  the  urge 

of  self-preservation — 
they  come  into  contact  with  neighbor 

elements — 

without  premeditation,  without  malice — 
Wise  Master! 
We  love  each  other — 
THE  COMPANY  —  And  thee,  Master! 
EGO —  In  consequence  of  this  disrupting  phe 

nomenon, 
it  behooves  me  to  assume,  and  to  act 

directly,    not   tentatively,   on   the 

assumption, 


FASTIDIOUS 

THE   TWINS  — 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


that  our  law  is  in  need  of  some  slight  re 
vision  or  amendment — 

FASTIDIOUS  —       Not  revision  or  amendment! 
EGO  —  Let  me  then  say,  of  elongation! 

THE  COMPANY  —  Hail,  elongation! 

EGO  —  Each  in  his  own  way,  equally  with  the 

rest, 

each  is  an  I-am-I — 

we  revamped  that  article  a  moment  ago. 

But  the  prime  and  tragically  urgent  fac 
tor  is,  it  seems  now,  to  wit,  that  we 
are  living  together, 

inside  the  dimensions  vouchsafed  to  one 
and  all 

our  exquisite  amity  of  the  past  hid  the 
boundaries  of, 

dimensions  this  event  has  bared  like  a 
wound — 

so  that  we  become  that  part  which  hurts 
us  most — 

and  must  turn  physicians  for  its  cure — 

or  surgeons  for  its  removal — 
FASTIDIOUS  —      You  grow  involved,  wise  Master! 
EGO  —  The  event  thus  proves  that  our  being  an 

I-am-I 

insinuates  relationship  to  an  I-am-you, 

from  which  relationship  new  evaluations 
must  be  suckled. 

Proper  has  expressed  a  want  for  an  out 
side  entity,  whose  cognomen  we  wot 
not  of. 

Improper  has  expressed  a  want  of  an 

[42] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 

opposite  tendency,  parallel  in  po 
tency,  for  the  same  person. 

Diversely,   it   seems   that   this   foreign 
entity, 

for  hindrances  best  known  to  her  con 
sciousness — 

doubtless    because    she's    likewise    an 
I-am-I, 

with  desires  and  volitions  of  her  own — 

has  expressed  thus  far,  so  we  learn, 

as  little  desire  for  our  twins  as  they've 
vaunted  much  desire  for  her — 

in  fact,  none  at  all! 

THE  TWINS  —       She  would  if  it  weren't  for  him! 
EGO  —  We've  heard  that  palaver  for  days  now — 

hush! 

And  we've  been  advised,  and  painful  the 
advisement,  that  Belly  cannot  eat, 

Lazy  not  finish  his  verses,  Fastidious  not 
ruminate, 

because  of  the  irrelationship  of  the  twins 

and  this  person! 
THE  COMPANY — Excellency! 
EGO  —  We  made  our  error  at  the  outset — 

like   Lazy,   we   began  our  poem  with 
brave  phrases 

which  split  on  the  first  rock  of  disagree 
ment. 

Let  us  begin  with  a  new  premise — 

and  instead  of  quarreling,  instead  of  re 
verting  to  firearms,  we  will  agree. 
THE  COMPANY  —  Agree? 

[43] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


EGO  — 


FASTIDIOUS  — 
EGO 


luctantly  makes 
begin  revising. 


BELLY 

EGO 

BELLY  — 
EGO  — 

THE  TWINS 
EGO  — 


THE  TWINS  — 
EGO  — 

THE  COMPANY 
EGO  — 


Ready  to  consider  contradiction  on  any 

paragraph  of  it,  my  suggestion  is 

this: 
Let  Fastidious  aid  Lazy  with  Proper's 

poem! 
That  abominal  eschewing  of  metre  and 

rhyme  ? 
Your  past  and  his  present  will  embrace 

in  time — 
haven't  you  revised  all  his  work  so  far  ? 

Hither,  Lazy! 

Lazy  comes  to  their  table.    Fastidious  re- 
room  for  him  and  the  manuscript.  They 

You,  Belly,  return  to  your  eating  and 

drinking — 

our  brains  require  the  cheer  of  your  fuel 
for  devising  what  we  have  to  devise. 
Stuff  this  porridge  down  my  gullet  ? 
Pll  bake  you  a  pheasant  later! 
Chef  de  cuisine! 
You,    Proper   and   Improper,    prepare 

yourselves  for  the  combat! 
Combat  ? 

Array  yourselves — 
make  ready  the  fire  of  your  hearts 
and  the  sagacity  of  your  souls — 
for  the  one  last  courtship! 
Last  courtship? 
You  are  to  make  her  ours — 
-Ours? 
And  failing  to  make  her  ours — 

[44] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


THE  TWINS 

EGO 


THE  TWINS 
EGO  — 

barbarously. 


IMPROPER 

EGO 


PROPER 

IMPROPER 

EGO 

BELLY 

EGO 

FASTIDIOUS  — 
EGO 


you  are  to  unmake  her  yours — 

you  must  renounce  her! 

Master! 

Obedience!     I  feel  the  firearm  tickling 

my  ribs! 

Which  is  your  choice  ? 
Obedience! 
Gird  yourselves! 
They  do  so — Proper  daintily,  Improper 

Go  to  the  lattice  of  your  fair  and  urge  her 

thither! 

Her  I-am-I  shall  become  an  I-am-us — 
or  you  return  empty-handed! 
Empty-handed  ? 
And  never  steal  forth  again  in  quest  of 

foreign  entities! 
Personally,  I  have  no  concern 

whatsoever, 
whether  you  return  full-handed  or 

empty — 
though  the  maid  might  amuse  me  a 

tittle. 

Are  you  ready? 
One  moment  more  for  this  crooked 

plume! 

By  my  blood,  I'm  ready! 
And  you,  Belly — how  is  the  fuel? 
The  fuel  begins  to  go  down. 
And  you,  poet  and  critic — 
The  last  line  is  egregiously  banal — 
Read  it,  Lazy — 

[45] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


EGO  — 


THE   TWINS  — 
EGO  — 


LAZY  —  And  my  heart  lifts  and  falls  to  your  sun 

and  moon! 

It  will  do!    Give  the  thing  to  Proper! 

Proper    and    Improper — attention — are 
you  prepared? 

Prepared! 

You  may  depart. 

They  start  to  leave. 

Stop!     Have  you  forgotten  your 
manners  ? 

Where  is  the  sign  ? 

With  a  flourish,  they  exchange  the  deb 
onair  sign  of  the  inn  with  the  others,  Ego  alone  refraining. 
Exeunt  Proper  and  Improper.  Pause.  Lazy  and  Fas- 
tidious  separate;  Belly  continues  to  eat;  Ego  goes  towards  the 
kitchen.  Diminuendo  ritardando. 

Whither  wend  you,  Master? 

To  the  kitchen — and  the  pheasant. 

Is  it  surely  a  pheasant? 

While  these  carping  dreamers  were 
here — 

it  was,  patient  Belly — 

but  now  they  are  gone,  it's  a  goose. 

Twill  do. 

Ego  disappears. 

Illusion's  the  window-shade 

Nature  draws  between  desire  and  reality. 

Who  am  I  to  twist  my  nose  from  a  goose  ? 

When  one  is  hungry,  geese  smell  like 
myrrh! 

When  one  is  hungry,  geese  smell  like 
geese! 

[46] 


BELLY  — 
EGO  — 
BELLY  — 
EGO  — 


BELLY  — 
FASTIDIOUS 

BELLY 

LAZY 

BELLY 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 

And  I'm  hungry  again — 

blessed  that  jade  who  whinnied  them 

off— 

LAZY —  The    twins?     And    I    can    juggle    my 

thoughts — 

I  see  a  monkey — another — another — 

where's  my  parchment  ? 

He  rummages  in  the  drawer  of  a  table. 
FASTIDIOUS  —      And  that  problem  which  engaged  me  a 

week  ago — 

was  I  duelling  with  a  shadow — 

did  it  fear  the  brawn  of  my  brain — ah! 

Sings — 

If  a  rondel  and  a  rondeau  give  birth  to  a 
child- 

they'll  give  birth  to  a  child,  that  is  cer 
tain. 

Mere  Rondel  touched  Pere  Rondeau — 

once  on  his  upper  lip,  once  on  his  lower — 

she'll  have  a  wee  child  in  the  fall — 

BELLY (sings) 

Pig,  swine,  boar,  hog,  sow, 
kings  of  quadruped  avoirdupois — 
pork,  knuckle,  ham,  bacon,  chop — 
half  of  you  lean  and  half  of  you  fat — 
you  and  the  butcher  keep  a  biped  round! 
FASTIDIOUS  —       Cease  thy  doggerel! 
Sings — 
what  shall  we  name  the  child,  queried 

Pere  Rondeau — 

what  shall  we  name  the  child,  queried 
Mere  Rondel? 

[47] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


If  rondel  wed  rondeau  in  all  propriety — 
LAZY  —  The  child's  name  ought  to  be,  Rondelay! 

FASTIDIOUS  —       You  thieving  baboon — 
LAZY —  (sings) — I  am  four  monkeys. 

One  hangs  from  a  limb, 

tail- wise, 

chattering  at  the  earth; 

another  is  cramming  his  belly  with 
cocoanut; 

the  third  is  up  in  the  top  branches, 

quizzing  the  sky; 

and  the  fourth — 

he's  chasing  another  monkey. 

How  many  monkeys  are  you  ? 

BELLY (Sings)  

If  you  press  your  finger — 

be  it  here  or  be  it  there — 

I'll  give  way  like  a  dimpling  baby — 

take  away  your  finger — 

be  it  here  or  be  it  there — 

the  dimple's  gone  and  I'm  baby  again! 

Oh — I  have  a  pain,  a  cramp — 

something  is  sticking  me! 

Crescendo  accelerando. 

What  is  it,  Belly? 

I,  too — my  apparatus  is  pricked — 

the  shadow  has  got  me — 

There's  a  tail  round  my  neck — 

what  is  it— oh! 

It's  you  and  your  obscene  ditties — 

It  is  they! 

Who? 


LAZY 

FASTIDIOUS 

LAZY 


FASTIDIOUS 

LAZY 

FASTIDIOUS 


[48] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


LAZY  — 

BELLY 

FASTIDIOUS 
BELLY 

LAZY 

BELLY 

FASTIDIOUS 

LAZY 

FASTIDIOUS 
BELLY 

EGO  — 

LAZY 

FASTIDIOUS 

BELLY 

EGO  — 


THE    TRIO  — 

LAZY  — 
FASTIDIOUS  — 
BELLY  — 
LAZY  — 
FASTIDIOUS  — 
EGO  — 

waving  his  arms. 


Proper  and  Improper — 

They've  reached  the  female  brothel — 

Yes,  otherwise — 

My  appetitie  wouldn't  be  dead — 

the  goose  stinks  like  a  hedgehog — 

Something  terrible  is  happening — 

I  can  feel  it — 

I  visualize — 

Master! 

Master! 

Master! 

Ego  comes  running  out. 

What  has  smitten  you  now? 

A  calamity — 

A  holocaust — 

The  hounds  and  the  bitch — 

What  is  it  ? 

Oh — I  feel  it  myself— 

the  scoundrels — what  are  they  doing — 

the  minx — what  is  she  doing — 

something  terrible  is  happening! 

Master — what  is  it  ? 

Sounds  of  scuffling  without. 

The  twins  are  fighting — 

She  must  have  banished  them — 

My  coin  on  Improper — 

Gentle  Proper — save  him,  Master! 

Give  them  lead! 

Drawing  his  pistol — Give  them  death! 

Proper  bursts  into  the  inn,   breathless^ 

[49]' 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


PROPER  —  Master,  Master — save  her,  Master! 

Improper  strides  in  pompously  dragging 
the  lady  by  her  long  golden  hair. 

THE    COMPANY  —  Ah! 

EGO  —  Take  your  hand  from  those  tresses! 

Improper  sees  the  pistol  and  obeys. 
LADY  —  She  is  dainty,  demure — looks  about 

wildly — 

Masters! 

She  spies  Ego — 

Master — save  me! 
EGO  —  Hiding  the  pistol  and  examining  Lady — 

An  engaging  body  and  personality! 

You  seem  to  know  me,  Madam? 
LADY  —  Spare  me  those  violators ! 

EGO  —  Plural — is  there  more  than  one  ? 

LADY —  Pointing  at  Proper — That  one,  too! 

EGO  —  Arise,  Madam — 

He  assists  her  gallantly. 

Proper  assaulted  you,  too? 
LADY  —  Almost  simpering — 

He  didn't  assault  me — 

but — he  courted  me — 

with  sighings — and  a  poem — 

and  prostration  of  his  body — 

and  something  about,  "this  is  my  last 
protestation' — 

and  then  that  other  one — piqued — 

shouting,  'let  me  show  her  my  protesta 
tion' — 

kicked    Proper — knocked   him   down — 
and  seized  me! 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


IMPROPER  — 


LADY 

EGO 


FASTIDIOUS  — 
LADY  — 
FASTIDIOUS  — 
BELLY  — 

EGO  — 

which  he  raises 

THE  COMPANY 
EGO  — 


LADY  — 

EGO 

LADY 

EGO 

LADY 


If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  one, 
the  other  would  have  behaved! 
Don't  blame  it  on  that  milksop,  hussy — 
I  need  no  booby  to  teach  me  a-court- 

ing— 
you  and  your  protestation — you're  to 

blame — 

I  warned  you  I'd  do  it — cave-fashion! 
Master! 
Silence,  cur! 
What  is  it,  Madam? 
Come  and  sit  down — repose  your  fair 

being! 

Being  opposes  non-being! 
Who  are  you  ? 
At  your  service,  Madam — 
And  I'm  Belly — can  you  cook,  sweet 

mam? 

Silence,  swine! 

He  leads  Lady  to  one  of  the  tables,  onto 
her,  with  a  chair  for  footstool. 
—  Ah! 

They  crowd  forward. 

Room,  slaves! 

Your  shoe  is  unbuckled! 

He  stoops. 

You  are  a  gentleman,  sir.    What  is  your 

name  ? 

You  have  named  me,  Madam. 
Master — yes — but  what  your  Christian  ? 
Fasten  your  bodice,  Love. 
How  do  you  know  my  name  ? 

[51] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


EGO  — 

LADY 

EGO 

LADY 

EGO  — 
LADY  — 


EGO  — 

FASTIDIOUS  — 
LAZY  — 
PROPER  — 
IMPROPER  — 
BELLY  — 
EGO  — 
LADY  — 
EGO  — 
LADY  — 
THE  COMPANY 
EGO  — 
LADY  — 
EGO  — 


Improper  obeys, 

LADY  — 
IMPROPER  — 

LADY    — 
EGO  — 


I  know  everything. 

A  gentleman — and  a  seer — what  else, 

sir? 

A  lover! 
A  lover  ? 
Since  you  came! 
How  exhilarating — 
who  are  you  ? — 
what  is  your  name  ? 
Imprison  your  ringlets  again! 

Banality — 

He's  stealing  my  lines — 


Sotto 


voce 


My  inspiration — 


My  property — 
Can  she  really  cook? 
Silence,  ye! 

Who  are  they — what  place  is  this  ? 
Til  give  them  introduction,  Wife! 
Wife? 
Wife? 

Heart  of  my  bosom — 
Pretty,  pretty — 
Come  forward,  Improper — kiss  Milady's 

foot! 

Ego's  hand  steals  to  his  hip-pocket. 

(superciliously) — 

Haven't  I  met  you  before,  sir? 

You  have — and  you're  meeting  me  now 

— in  him! 
Eh? 
Come  forward,  Proper — 

[52] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


turn. 

LADY  — 

PROPER  

LADY  

EGO  — 

LAZY 

LADY 

EGO 

FASTIDIOUS 


LADY 

EGO  — 


Proper  and  the  rest  imitate  Improper  in 

Sun  of  my  world — 

this  one  is  Proper  yclept — 

Pretty,  pretty — 

haven't  I  met  you  before,  Sir  Proper? 

You  have — and  you're  meeting  me  now 

— in  him! 
How   mysterious — he   speaks   like   the 

other! 

Come  forward,  Lazy — 
this  crooked  creature's  a  dreamer — 
poem  of  my  life! 
And  my  heart  lifts  and  falls  to  your  sun 

and  moon! 
How  intriguing — haven't  I  heard  that 

before  ? 

Imagining,  my  dear — 
let  me  show  you  another — 
grave  Fastidious — thought  of  my 

thought! 
It  is  not  meet  for  thought  to  stoop  to 

matter, 
but  when  thought   has  matter  in  its 

thought, 
thought    raises    matter    on    high — and 

stoops  to  it! 

I'm  spinning,  twirling,  whirring — 
are  you  as  wise  as  this  one,  Master? 
Vanish,  Fastidious! 
Belly,  crawl  hither — 
earth  of  my  wormhood — 

[53] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


LADY  — 

BELLY 

LADY 

BELLY 


LADY 


BELLY  — 
LADY 


BELLY 

EGO 

LADY 

EGO 


LADY 

EGO 

LADY 

approbation. 

FASTIDIOUS 
EGO 


What  wayward  mother  christened  you? 

My  insides  are  tickling  me — 

they  say  unto  thee — 

Unto  me? 

There's  a  stench  of  roast  goose  in  the 

air — 

it  offends  my  intelligence — 
perchance  can  you  bake  me  a  pheasant, 

sweet  mam? 
Pheasant — why  yes — 
I  have  pheasants,  peacocks  and  swans 

on  my  estate! 
Peacocks  and  swans! 
And  quail  which  would  itch  well 
with  plums,  raisins,  rice,  cherries  and 

sauce  of  elderberry! 
Almighty  gods — 
you've  sent  me  Ambrosia  herself! 
Avaunt,  swine! 
Who  else  now,  Master? 
There  remains  only  myself — 
regent  of  my  serfdom! 
My  name  is  Ego. 
And  who  are  you  ? 
I  was  I — now  I  am  you! 
What  does  that  mean? 
The  henchmen  mutter  their  further  dis- 

Renegade! 

I  am  the  apex  of  selfhood, 

of  which  these  slaves  are  the  radii, 

and  you  the  circumference! 

[54] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 

FASTIDIOUS  —      Whom  does  he  call  slave  ? 
LADY  —  Only  the  circumference  ? 

EGO  —  You  are  the  center  of  gravity 

^toward  which  your  slave  is  tumbling, 

attracted — impelled — by  your  omnipo 
tence  ! 

LAZY  —  He'll  need  our  aid  presently! 

IMPROPER  —         Thieves  bring  themselves  to  the  noose! 
EGO  —  I  was  I,  and  you  were  you — 

and  I  would — I  would  that — 
PROPER  —  The  I  and  the  you  are  one! 

LADY  —  Why  do  you  let  them  speak? 

EGO  —  Silence,  trespassers! 

That  the  I  and  the  you  were  we — pre 
cisely! 

LADY —  (coquettishly) — What  does  that  mean? 

EGO  —  It  means,  so  to  speak,  that  my  desire — 

that  the  thought  of  my  heart — and  the 

heart  of  my  thought — 
LAZY  —  Bolder,  Master! 

PROPER —  That    he — not    his    thought    and    his 

heart — 

IMPROPER  —         That  he  wants  you! 
EGO  —  Not  that  I  want  you — 

LADY  —  You  don't  ? 

BELLY —  Belch  louder,  Slave! 

EGO  —  But  that  I  want  that  you  shall — 

The  henchmen  begin  pressing  forward. 
FASTIDIOUS  —      Vociferously,  Babbler! 
EGO  —  That  you  shall  want  me! 

LADY  —  Is  that  all  ?     How  very  amusing! 

FASTIDIOUS  —       Sex  tweedledum! 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


LADY  — 


THE  TWINS 

PROPER 

IMPROPER 

LADY 

EGO 


Oh — I  want  to  return — 

to  the  prettier  courtship — of  Proper  and 

Improper! 
Madam! 

I  want  me  for  yourself — 
I  want  you  for  myself— 
Though  the  duo's  familiar,  it's  dulcet — 
faster,  gentlemen! 
What  ho,  what  ho! 
I  know  a  little  song  that  can  sing  to  high 

C- 

your  bridal  song,  Woman! 
He  produces  the  pistol.    Lady  eyes  it  com 


ically. 
LADY  — 


What    a    dainty   instrument!     It    can 

twitter? 

EGO  —  It'll  make  you  twitter — down,  Madam! 

LADY  —  Hand  it  to  me! 

EGO  —  Down  on  your  knees! 

LADY  —  Will  you  hand  it  to  me  on  your  knees  ? 

Ego  obeys.  The  henchmen  roll  him  aside. 
Lady  holds  the  pistol  over  her  head,  finger  on  trigger.  They 
avert  their  heads.  There  is  only  the  click  of  the  hammer. 

LADY Pooh! 

THE    COMPANY — Bah! 

LAZY  —  Turncoat ! 

IMPROPER  —         Impostor! 
FASTIDIOUS  —      Apostate! 

Ego  slinks  to  the  background. 
LADY  —  Improper! 

IMPROPER —         Lady? 

[56] 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 

LADY  —  My  brazen  pet — 

take  this  dreadful  thing  outdoors — 

steal  craftily  through  the  night  to  my 
estate — 

patter  ever  so  softly  to  my  garden — 
IMPROPER  —         Yes,  yes! 
LADY —  And,   dead   or   alive — bring   Belly   his 

pheasant! 

IMPROPER —         Madam! 
LADY  —  Obey! 

He    obeys — after   ironically    making   the 
sign  to  Ego!    Lady  looks  at  the  company.     They  stand  for 
a  moment  of  silent  awe — then  attack  Ego  in  derisive  cres 
cendo. 
FASTIDIOUS  —       Fancy    the    I    being    touched    by    the 

thought  of  a  you! 

LAZY  —  To  what  are  we  canonized  ? 

QUARTETTE  —      The  self! 

FASTIDIOUS  —      In  consequence  of  this  disrupting  phe 
nomenon — 

PROPER  —  Our  law  is  in  need  of  some  revision — 

LADY  —  What  law  ? 

LAZY  —  His  law! 

FASTIDIOUS  —      Not  of  revision — 
PROPER  —  Of  elongation! 

FASTIDIOUS  —       Each  one  of  us  is  an  I-am-I ! 
LADY  —  That  phrase  again — what  does  it  mean  ? 

FASTIDIOUS  —      That  you  are  an  I-am-I! 
PROPER —  You  are  the  I-am-I! 

LADY —  Ego,  what  do  they  mean? 

EGO  —  (resignedly) — They  mean  sedition,  mam 

— my  day  is  past. 

[57] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


PROPER  — 

LADY 

PROPER 

LADY 

EGO 

LADY 


FASTIDIOUS  —       Her  I-am-I  shall  become  an  I-am-us — 
Or  you  return  empty-handed! 
Who  return? 
Improper  and  I. 
I   begin  to  understand — tell  me  some 

more! 

Peace,  Lady! 
Peace,  Sir! 
Come  close,  children,  so  we  do  not  offend 

him. 

They  do  so.  In  pantomime  turn,  they 
rapidly  gesticulate,  and  whisper  in  her  ears.  Lady  nodding 
in  a  tempo  of  delight,  with  interrupting  chuckles  of  "Ego — 
Ego.*" 

Madam! 

Silence,  you! 

Continued  whispering. 

And  what  is  the  song? 

It  requires  some  slight  amendment. 

Sing  it — sing  it  for  me! 

(with  Lazy  beating  time) — 

Mistress  Ego,  Mistress  Ego, 

we  are  you,  and  you  are  we-oh! 

I    am   the    body   which — needeth    thy 

nourishment — 
I  the  cool  brain  which — counseleth  thy 

flourishment — 
I  the  high  bird  which — soareth  to  thy 

soul — 
I — we  the  harriers  who  bring  thee  thy 

dole— 
Sovereign  Ego,  Sovereign  Ego, 

[58] 


EGO 

LADY 

LADY 

FASTIDIOUS  

LADY 

QUARTETTE  — 


BELLY 


FASTIDIOUS 


LAZY 


PROPER 


QUARTETTE 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


LADY  — 

EGO 

LADY 


EGO  

LADY 

EGO 

PROPER 

LADY 


quartette  nudge 

FASTIDIOUS  — 


LADY 


FASTIDIOUS 


THE  OTHERS 
EGO  — 

LADY 

LAZY 


we  are  you,  and  you  are  we-oh! 

(clapping  her  hands) — 

And  Ego — you  dedicate  this  to  me  ? 

(sullenly) — This  and  all  else. 

(looking    about   innocently) — What    else 

have  you  for  me? 
Oh — what  sign  is  that  yonder? 
The  symbol  of  this  hallowed  place! 
I  don't  like  it — please  take  it  down! 
Sacrilege — Madam — I  beg  of  you — 
I'll  take  it  down  in  a  tumult! 
Thank  you — Ego  will  take  it  down. 
It  is  my  wish — and  his  privilege. 
Ego   goes  slowly   behind  the  bar.      The 
one  another.     The  symbol  is  removed. 

This  is  truly  the  most  dauntless  spirit 

Man  ever  encountered! 
Madam,  my  intellect  bends  homage  to 

yours! 
Fastidious,  I  suspect  you're  the  man  of 

sentiment  here — 
I  could  unravel  hairs  with  you  in  eternal 

gusto! 
What  sign  would  you  say  belongs  up 

yonder  ? 

Your  question  lures  an  immediate  re 
tort — 

At  The  Sign  Of  The  Heart  And  Soul! 
•     Fastidious! 
Scandalous! 

Lazy,  did  you  devise  that  handicraft  ? 
Mine  was  the  disgrace,  high  liege — 


[59 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


LADY  —  See  that  you  devise  another  at  once! 

EGO —  Wife! 

LADY —  Silence,  Husband! 

She  blows  him  a  quick  kiss.  He  blows 
back  a  slow  one,  and  smiles. 

BELLY  —  Pere  Ego  succumbs  to  Mere  Ego! 

THE  OTHERS  —    Hail,  Mother  Ego! 
LADY  —  Belly,  for  your  benign  inspiration — 

your  shall  have  a  laurel  payment — 

help  me  down,  sirs! 

They  come  forward  with  one  will.  Clamor 
ing,  they  help  her  down  from  her  throne. 
LADY  —  Husband,  come  hither! 

EGO  —  Spouse  ? 

LADY  —  You  have  introduced  me  to  these  heroic 

spirits — 

now  introduce  me  to  the  spirit  which 
gives  them  breath — 

lead  me  to  the  kitchen! 

Ego  gallantly  raises  his  hand  on  high. 
She  takes  it  deftly.     They  proceed  to  the  kitchen. 
QUARTETTE  —      Bravo,  Mother  Ego! 

They  disappear.  Improper  comes  run 
ning  in,  breathless,  waving  a  pheasant — or  is  it  a  chicken  ? — 
over  his  head. 

FASTIDIOUS  —      Hail,  Gamester! 
BELLY —  Ambrosia,  Ambrosia — the  pheasant  has 

come! 

LADY  —  (off -stage) — Improper ! 

IMPROPER  —         Madam  ? 
LADY  —  Have  you  got  it  ? 

IMPROPER —         Dead,  Madam! 

F6ol 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THUMB  AND  NOSE 


LADY  —  Bring  it  here  at  once! 

Tossing  the  pistol  on  the  bar,  Improper 
rushes  off.  Noisily,  the  others  have  taken  possession  of  the 
bar.  Mugs  and  glasses  spill  over.  They  are  raised  on  high. 


LAZY  — 
FASTIDIOUS  — 
QUARTETTE  — 

BELLY 

EGO  — 

LADY  — 
EGO  — 


A  toast,  Fastidious! 

Empress  Ego! 

Empress  Ego! 

Improper  returns  in  time  for  his  mug. 

Ambrosia!    Master! 

Save  the  goose  for  to-morrow? 

Yes,  Glutton! 

The  quintette  drink. 

Dear — will  you  lend  me  your  apron  ? 

It  is  yours — to  keep — precious  Love! 

His  quiet  laugh  spreads  loud  contagion. 


SLOW  CURTAIN. 


[61] 


UNEASY  STREET 


A  Folk  Play 


To  Alfred  Stitglitz  and  291 


UNEASY  STREET 

A  Folk  Play  in  Two  Scenes 

M 

Persons,  in  the  order  of  their  first  appearance. 
i.  B.  WOUNDY,  the  undertaker 

EDWARD    LEMON,  the  florist 

MR.  JOUNCE,  the  butcher 
MR.  SPICK,  the  fish-man 
MRS.  SCRUBB,  the  laundress 
MRS.  SMOCK,  the  seamstress 
MR.  RYAN,  the  policeman 
MR.  RANSEED,  the  grocer 


Scene  I.  Shops  along  Varick  Street,  Greenwich 
Village,  New  York  City.  Six  o'clock  of  a  spring  evening. 

Scene  II.  Mr.  Woundy's  sitting  room,  three  hours 
later. 


(The  "ou"  in  "Woundy"  is  pronounced  as  in  "sound/') 


UNEASY  STREET 


SCENE  I:  A  curtain  so  painted  as  to 
suggest  a  row  of  small  shop  windows.  The  two  most  prom 
inent  are  adjacent  and  advertise  I.E.  Woundy,  the  under 
taker,  and  Edward  Lemon,  the  florist.  In  Mr.  Woundy9  s 
window  there  is  an  ominous  black  coffin,  and  on  the  glass 
the  simple  inscription:  I.  B.  WOUNDY,  FUNERAL 
DECORATOR.  Mr.  Lemon  s  window  displays  a  riot  of 
spring  flowers  of  every  denomination;  the  inscription  is 
florid:  EDWARD  LEMON,  HORTICULTURIST,  OR 
DERS  TAKEN  FOR  WEDDINGS,  CHURCH  SO- 
CIABLES,  CHRISTENINGS,  FUNERALS,  ETC.  In 
both  stores,  a  door  or  swinging  flap . 

Mr.  Woundy,  a  tiny,  fleshless,  shrewd- 
skulled  hulk  of  sixty-five,  comes  out  with  his  evening  chair 
and  clay  pipe  black  with  age,  quickly  sits  down,  nervously 
lights  the  pipe,  crosses  his  legs  and  begins  swinging  his  foot. 
A  frown  and  short  irregular  puffs  betray  the  irascibility  of 
his  present  mood. 

Mr.  Lemon,  slow,  stout,  forty-five,  a  species 
of  cheerful  geranium,  appears  with  his  evening  chair  and 
new  corn  cob.  Mr.  Woundy  ignores  Mr.  Lemon  as  the 
latter  carefully  deposits  his  chair  fairly  close,  smiles  affably, 
slowly  lights  his  pipe  and  puffs  deliberately. 
MR.  LEMON  —  (genial  tenor) .  Well,  and  how's  business, 

Neighbor  Woundy? 

MR.  WOUNDY —     (raucous  bass).  Still  slow,  Lemon. 
MR.  LEMON —      Why,  I  thought  that  Mrs.  Smock — 
MR.  WOUNDY —  No,  Mrs.   Smock  didn't  croak.     That 

fool,  Dr.  Small,  managed  to  pull 

her  through. 
MR.  LEMON  —      Hm!    That's  rather  bad  for  you. 

[67] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MR.  WOUNDY  — 

MR.  LEMON  — 

MR.  WOUNDY  — 

MR.  LEMON  — 


MR.  WOUNDY  - 
MR.  LEMON  — 

MR.  WOUNDY  - 
MR.  LEMON  — 

MR.  WOUNDY  - 
MR.  LEMON  — 


MR.  WOUNDY  — 


MR.    LEMON  — 
MR.    WOUNDY  - 


MR.    LEMON  — 
MR.    WOUND Y- 


It's   bad  for  you  too,   Lemon.     She's 

got  heaps  of  generous  relations. 
Still,  I  can't  complain. 
How  so  ? 
There's  been  four  christenings  lately. 

Little  Edward  Peacock,  the  Saddler 

twins  and — 

Children,  thank  God,  keep  on  coming. 
And  then  there's  them  two  weddings  on 

Perry  Street — 

Of  course,  weddings  go  right  on. 
And  the  church  sociable  at  St.  John's 

and  the  Greenwich  fair  and — 
Of  course,  of  course! 
Flowers,    Mr.   Woundy,   is   always   in 

demand.     People  don't  have  to  die. 

The  flower  trade  takes  care  of  itself. 
Flowers  in  demand  ?  Flowers  be  damned! 
Death's  the  only  thing  in  demand. 
Bodies,  dead  things,  everything.  Don't 
flowers  die  ?  Your  little  pinks  and  your 
little  pansies  and  your  little  roses  and 
all  that  tomfoolery?  Everything  dies, 
everybody.  They've  got  to  die — 
But  flowers  symbolize  life  and  the  return 
thereof. 

What  do  you  mean?    Don't  life  die? 
And  your  return  thereof?    What's  that 

for  except  to  die  ? 
That's  true  enough. 

Of  course ,  it's  true .     It's  the  only  truth . 
Nations  die,  ages  die,  gods  die.     Who 

[68] 


UNEASY  STREET 


said  it  wasn't  true  ?  (Suddenly  pointing 
with  his  pipe) — Look  at  that  old  rascal 
crawling  along  over  there!  What  good 
will  his  silly  cane  do  him  to-morrow? 
Look  at  him  look  over  here!  And  look 
at  him  look  away!  He  saw  me.  He 
knows.  Huh!  Doctors  or  no  doctors, 
they've  all  got  to  come.  He's  afraid, 
the  old  scoundrel. 

MR.  LEMON  —      Yes,  he's  afraid. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Afraid?  And  so  are  you.  So  is  every 
body.  Greater  than  death  is  the  fear  of 
death.  You  all  know  that.  What 
do  they  do,  men,  women,  children, 
doctors,  priests  and  all?  You've  seen 
them.  Do  they  go  by  here?  (Mr. 
Lemon  shakes  his  head.)  Every  blessed 
one  sneaks  over  there  and  goes  on  his 
petty  way,  on  his  petty  errand,  on  his 
petty  something  or  other.  You  know 
why.  (Mr.  Lemon  nods  affably.)  The 
measly  snivelling  cowards — Spick,  the 
fishman,  whose  aunt  I  buried,  Jounce, 
fat,  blustering  Jounce,  whose  wife, 
father  and  grandfather  came  to  me, 
Mrs.  Scrubb,  whose  dainty  husband  and 
three  pimply  children — she  killed  them 
maybe,  but  I  buried  them.  And  didn't 
I  bury  Uncle,  Mother  and  Father  Ran- 
seed  ?  Why,  the  only  one  who  goes  by 
here  is  Officer  Pat  Ryan,  pride  of  the 
street,  he  and  his  twiddling  club,  'cause 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


he  saved  a  drowning  child,  that  I  buried 
despite  him  the  week  after.  And  he — 
he  only  goes  by  at  night  to  see  that 
our  doors  are  locked.  I  know  them. 
They've  been  coming  to  me  for  forty 
years.  And  they  used  to  come  to  my 
father,  sir.  The  flower  trade!  (A  mo 
ment's  silence.)  Every  one  of  them  gets 
his  cheap  box  to  lie  in,  his  imitation 
ebony  or  mahogany,  if  he  didn't  slave 
and  save,  and  his  genuine,  if  he  did. 
Every  one  of  them  gets  his  stupid  stone, 
monument  or  angel's  wings,  and  his 
hearse  and  two,  four,  ten,  twenty  or  a 
hundred  carriages.  Every  one  of  the 
self-respecting  lot — don't  I  know  them  ? 
— wouldn't  they  like  to  get  up  in  their 
box  just  to  pipe:  Look  at  my  sixty-six 
carriages  ?  (Mr.  Lemon  smiles  and  nods.) 
But  with  all  their  self-respect,  with  all 
their  sweat  and  saving  of  pennies,  with 
all  their  wives  and  children  and  grand 
children,  and  their  dreams — what  is  it 
lies  so  dark  at  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts,  what  is  it  makes  them  bounce 
o'  bed  at  night,  what  is  it  makes  them 
crawl  along  over  there?  It's  the  inno 
cent  black  box  behind  me  there!  (Mr. 
Woundy  stares  at  his  rival  with  malignant 
joy  and  at  last  begins  smoking  comfort 
ably.) 
MR.  LEMON  —  Yes,  they're  all  afraid,  sir. 

[70] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  WOUNDY  - 

MR.  LEMON  — 
MR.  WOUNDY - 


MR.  LEMON  — 


MR.  WOUNDY  — 


MR.  LEMON  — 


MR.  WOUNDY  — 


MR.  LEMON  — 
MR.  WOUNDY  - 


MR.  LEMON  — 


Afraid?    And  so  are  you,  Lemon. 

Well,  I  shouldn't  quite  say — 

You  shouldn't  quite  say  ?    That  you  aint 

afraid?    That  you    wont  have  to 

come  ? 
(between   contented   puffs) — I    shouldn't 

quite  say  that  I — would  be  exactly 

— afraid. 

Huh!  And  who  are  you,  Mr.  Edward 
Lemon,  that  you  wouldn't  be  afraid? 
Who  are  you  that  the  sight  of  that 
little  black  thing  (jerking  his  pipe  over 
his  shoulder)  don't  scare  the  very  bowels 
out  of  you  ? 

(turning  with  exasperating  indifference  and 
eyeing  the  familiar  object  as  though  he 
saw  it  for  the  first  time) — Me  afraid? 
Me  scared  of  a  mere  black  box?  Why, 
I  could  go  to  sleep  in  a  box  like  that. 
Go  to  sleep  in  a  coffin?  What — who 
ever — you?  You  go  to  sleep  in  a 
coffin  ? 

Yes,  me  to  go  sleep  in  a  coffin. 
I  challenge  you  to  it!     I  challenge  you, 
sir!    Who  ever  heard — you're  crazy — 
you're  bluffing.     Ha,  that's  it.     I'll  call 
your  bluff,  you  white  lily.     You  can't 
bluff  old  man  Woundy.     You  sleep  in  a 
coffin !     I  challenge  you .     If  I  can't  bury 
any  more  dead  men  I'll  bury  a  live  one. 
Come  on! 
But  not  just  now,  Mr.  Woundy. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MR.  WOUNDY —  Ha,  ha,  I  thought  so!  Sleep  in  a  coffin 
indeed!  Here's  where  I'll  make  a  show 
of  you  in  front  of  your  friends — the 
crawling  worms — they've  loved  you  all 
these  years — they've  loved  a  fraud — 
you  and  your  flowers  and  flower  trade. 
You're  a  fraud.  That's  you,  Lemon. 
Not  just  now! 

MR.  LEMON  —      No,  not  just  now.     It's  too  early — 

MR.  WOUNDY —  To  be  shoveled  away? 

MR.  LEMON —  No,  its  too  early  in  the  evening.  I 
aint  sleepy  yet.  I  couldn't  go  off  now. 
Nobody  ever  went  to  sleep  when  he 
wasn't  sleepy. 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  Then  you  can  when  you  are? 

MR.    LEMON  —        Yes. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  In  a  coffin? 

MR.    LEMON —        Yes. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  This  very  night  ? 

MR.  LEMON  —  This  very  night. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  I'll  bet  you  you  can't. 

MR.  LEMON  —  What'll  you  bet? 

MR.  WOUNDY —  I'll — I'll   bet  you   a  glass   of  beer   at 

O'Sullivan's. 

MR.  LEMON —  Done! 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  That  you  can't  go  to  sleep  in  a  coffin. 

MR.  LEMON —  Done! 

MR.  WOUNDY —  On  my  premises! 

MR.  LEMON  —  Inside  of  five  minutes! 

MR.  WOUNDY —  I'll  give  you  ten! 

MR.    LEMON No,  five! 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Done! 

[72] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  LEMON  —      Done! 

A  moment  of  awful  silence. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Hold  on,  Lemon!  There's  a  hole  some 
where.  We'll  have  to  have  wit 
nesses. 

MR.    LEMON —        We  will. 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  All  your  friends — Jounce  and  Spick  and 

Mrs.  Scrubb  and — 
MR.  LEMON —      Your  enemies — Mrs.  Smock  and  Ryan 

and — 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Every  skulking  one  of  them! 
MR.  LEMON —      Who'll  be  referee? 
MR.  WOUNDY —  Ryan's  off  beat  Thursdays. 
MR.  LEMON —      Ryan'll  do. 
MR.  WOUNDY —  Ho,  ho,  Lemon!     But  will  they  come? 

Have   you   thought   of  that,    eh? 

On  my  premises!    Jounce  and  Spick 

and  the  rest — in  my  little  room — 

who,  sir,  who's  going  to  make  them 

come  ? 
MR.  LEMON —      Don't    mind    a   little   scare   like   your 

premises,  Mr.  Woundy,  I  will. 

MR.    WOUNDY —    YOU? 

MR.  LEMON —      Yes,  me. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  You'll  have  to  chain  'em  and  gag  'em 

and  bind  'em  and  drag  'em,  carcass 

and  soul. 

MR.    LEMON No,  I  Won't. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Yes,  you  will. 

MR.    LEMON —        No,  I  Won't. 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  It's  a  go  then  ? 

MR.    LEMON  —        It's  a  gO. 

[73] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MR.  WOUNDY —  It's  war,  is  it  ? 
MR.  LEMON  —      War,  if  you  will. 
MR.  WOUNDY —  Shake? 
MR.  LEMON —      Shake. 

They  shake  hands. 

MR.  WOUNDY —   (with  mock  generosity) — Lemon!    You're 

the  first  man  to  shake  hands  with 
me  in  years. 
MR.  LEMON  —      Thank  you,  sir. 

The  undertaker  puts  away  his  clay,  folds 
his  arms  and  challenges  the  sky  with  a  smirk  of  pity.  The 
florist  calmly  goes  on  puffing  his  cob.  The  lights  go  out  for 
an  instant,  and  the  curtain  rises  on  Scene  II. 

SCENE  II:  Three  hours  later.  Mr. 
Woundy's  sitting  room.  Small  and  unattractive;  eight 
crippled  heterogeneous  chairs,  shelves  littered  with  dust- 
laden  books,  a  small  table,  a  colorless  moth-eaten  rug,  odds 
and  ends  on  a  mantelpiece,  and  on  the  walls,  pictures  of 
Woundys  who  have  gone  before.  The  chairs  are  drawn  in 
front  of  the  left  wall  in  three  rows  in  the  shape  of  a  minia 
ture  amphitheater  (three,  three  and  two);  the  table  and 
shelves  stand  to  the  right  of  a  door,  down  stage,  left,  leading 
to  the  hall  and  street.  Right  center,  almost  under  a  gas  jet, 
and  supported  by  the  customary  pedestal,  a  really  beautiful 
and  generous  sized  ebony  coffin.  In  front  of  it,  an  arm 
chair.  Another  door,  left,  beyond  the  chairs,  leads  into 
the  bed-room. 

It  is  the  night  of  Mr.  Woundy's  life.  He 
is  putting  quick  finishing  touches  about  the  room:  a  funeral 
wreath  here,  another  there,  and  finally  one  on  the  coffin 
itself.  Now  and  then  he  rubs  his  hands  almost  gleefully; 
now  and  then  he  stops  and  listens. 

[74] 


UNEASY  STREET 


Cautious  shuffling  followed  by  a  timid 
knock  at  the  hall  door.  Mr.  Woundy  hurries  over  and 
opens  it. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Good  evening,  good  evening,  good  eve 
ning — step  right  in,  all  of  you — a  de 
lightful  surprise — come  in,  come  in — 
Jounce,  won't  you  lead  the  way?  My, 
what  a  lot  of  you! 

A  singular  little  procession,  led  by  Mr. 
Jounce,  ordinarily  a  formidable  man,  sidles  rather  than 
•files  into  the  room:  Mr.  Spick,  tall  and  thin,  and  Mrs. 
Scrubb,  who  waddles.  They  are  middle-aged  folk,  dressed 
in  their  Sunday  clothes.  Mr.  Jounce  tries  to  give  his  lead 
ership  an  air. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Ah,  Mrs.  Scrubb — good  evening,  Mrs. 

Scrubb — and  you,  Spick.     How  are 
you,  mam? 

MRS.  SCRUBB  —  All  them  steps,  sir — all  them  steps. 
MR.  WOUNDY —  The  golden  stairs  to  heaven,  eh?  Take 
off  your  things  and  rest  yourself.  (Mr. 
Jounce  helps  her.)  Aint  Jounce  the 
gentleman?  If  Mrs.  Jounce  was  alive 
to  see  that  now!  But  what's  become  of 
Spick  ? 

Mr.  Spick,  in  his  effort  to  be  of  assistance, 
stumbles  over  Mrs.  Scrubb  and  spies  the  coffin. 
MR.  SPICK —        Good  Lord! 

The  others  see  the  coffin  and  quickly  oc 
cupy  themselves. 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  (has  caught  sight  of  somebody  in  the  hall, 
afraid  to  enter) — Why,  there's  still  an 
other  of  you,  and  a  lady,  too.  Good 

[75] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


evening,  mam,  come  in,  come  in!  (Dis 
mayed) — Well,  of  all  people,  if  it  aint 
Mrs.  Smock!  (Recovering  himself) — 
Come  in,  Mrs.  Smock.  So  glad  to  see 
you,  so  glad  to  hear  of  your  getting 
well.  This  is  indeed  a  pleasant  surprise. 
A  sickly  nervous  woman,  gentle  of  mien, 

fairly  creeps  into  the  room.     Mr.  Spick  goes  to  her  assistance. 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  (as  his  guests  jostle  one  another  and  stare 
in  every  direction  but  the  coffin)-Now  then! 
Make  yourselves  as  comfortable  as  you 
can.  Just  as  you  would  at  a  play. 
Everybody  gets  an  orchestra  seat. 
Pursued  rather  than  followed  by  his  party, 

Mr.  Jounce  starts  for  the  chairs  in  the  rear. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Ladies  first,  ladies  first! 

Mrs.    Scrubb    and   Mrs.    Smock,    aided 

more  by  Mr.  Woundy  than  Mr.  Jounce,  settle  down.     The 

butcher  hastily  squeezes  himself  between  them.     Mr.  Spick 

fumbles  with  the  second  row  chairs.     The  women  titter. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Fine,  a  beautiful  arrangement!     Like  a 

bouquet  of  Lemon's  best  flowers. 
And  Jounce,  ha!  What  would  you 
call  Jounce  ? 

MRS.  SMOCK  —     He's  the  thorn  among  the  roses,  sir. 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  And  Spick — poor  lone  Spick — whaf  are 

you  up  to? 

MR.  SPICK  —         (mournfully  holding  a  chair) — I — Fm — 

MR.  JOUNCE  —     You  look  like  a  fish  lost  at  sea. 

MR.  WOUNDY —   Sit  down,  sir,  sit  down. 

Mr.  Spick  sits  down  abruptly  and  shoves 

his  chair  close  to  the  others. 

[76] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  WOUNDY  — 


MR.    SPICK 

MR.    WOUNDY 


MR.    JOUNCE  - 
MR.    WOUNDY 


MRS.    SCRUBB 
MR.    WOUNDY 


the  hall  door- 
general  relief, 
the  door. 

MR.    WOUNDY 


Too  bad,  but  don't  you  mind.  That 
little  box  aint  for  you  though  you're 
nearest  to  it.  It's  for  our  friend,  Lemon. 
Has  he  come? 

-  Not  yet,  but  he'll  be  along  if  his  feet 

aint  grown  cold. 
The  guests  exchange  glances. 
How  about  the  rest  of  you  ?     Ryan  and 

Ranseed  and — 
They're  coming  in  another  party. 

-  Fine,  a  good  idea,  this  coming  in  crowds! 
There's  no  telling  what'll  happen  to  a 
man  along  Varick  Street.     It  was  only 
the  other  night  I  was  thinking  when  I 
closed  up  shop — the  street  was  so  dark, 
you  know:  There  ought  to  be  more  lamps 
hereabouts.     Some    day    a    man'lljget 
murdered   and   it   wont   be   his   fault. 
There,  there!  Cheerful  talk,  good  friends, 
cheerful  talk  is  what  we  want  on  a  night 
like  this,  eh,  Mrs.  Scrubb? 

-  Indeed,  your  honor,  indeed. 

-  Cheerful     talk  —  you're  right,     mam. 
That's  what  life  was  made  for. 
Further  shuffling,  and  another  knock  at 

this  time  an  ordinary  knock.     Immediate 
Mr.   Woundy  goes  reluctantly  and  opens 


—  Good  evening,  good  evening-step  right 
in — ah,  Mr.  Ryan,  our  referee — so  glad 
to  see  the  pride  of  the  force,  sir! 
Mr.   Ryan  enters.     He  is  in  uniform. 

[77] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


His  is  the  impersonal  aloofness  of  the  officer  of  the  law; 

he  carries  his  part  with  professional  dignity.  He  is  followed 

by  Mr.  Ranseed,  who  is  over  corpulent. 

MR.  RYAN —         How  are  you,  sir? 

MR.  WOUNDY —  How  are  you,  Mr.  Ryan?    And  Ran- 

seed!     Well,  the  pride  of  all  grocers. 
How  do  you  do,  Ranseed? 

MR.  RANSEED  —  Evening,  sir — evening. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Hm!    You  want   to   be  taking  better 

care  of  yourself.    Remember  your 
father    that    went     off    with     the 
asthma?    Just  a   little  pleasantry, 
just  a  little  fun! 
Mumbling,  Mr.  Ranseed  joins  Mr.  Ryan. 

They  approach  the  chairs.     The  firstcomers  rise,  but  each 

one,  especially  Mr.  Jounce,  is  careful  to  keep  his  place. 

General  greetings. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  And  are  there  any  more  coming? 

MR.  RYAN  —        We're  all  here  now. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Good!      Now  wont  you  sit  down,  Ran 
seed  ? 

MR.  RANSEED —  (spying  the  coffin,  with  droll  apprecia 
tion) — We  should  have  come  sooner. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Not  at  all,  sir!    You'll  be  just  as  easy 

out  front,  and  able  to  see  every 
thing  better. 
Mr.  Ranseed  sits  down  next  to  Mr.  Spick; 

they  pull  their  chairs  close  together.     Mr.  Ryan  takes  a 

chair  in  the  front  row.     Mr.  Woundy  goes  into  the  bed  room 

with  the  two  extra  chairs. 

MR.  SPICK —        Where's  Lemon? 

MRS.  SCRUBB  —  Yes,  where's  that  tulip? 

[78] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  RYAN  — 


MR.  JOUNCE  - 

MR.  RYAN 

MR.  SPICK 

MR.  RYAN 

MRS.  SMOCK - 
MR.  RYAN 


THE  COMPANY 
MR.  RYAN  — 


THE  COMPANY 
MR.  SPICK 


MR.  RYAN 

MRS.    SMOCK  — 
MR.    RANSEED  — 

MR.    SPICK 

MR.    JOUNCE 

THE    WOMEN 

MR.   JOUNCE  — 
MR.    RANSEED  — 


Leave  off  fuming  and  fretting .     Lemon's 

after  taking  a  few  beers  down  at 

O'Sullivan's. 
Do  you  think  it'll  help  ? 
How? 

Will  it  help  his  going  to  sleep  ? 
Beer?     Beer   would    make    the    angels 

sleep. 

Then  you  think — 

I    think    nothing.     I'm    only    referee. 
That's  all  I'm  here  for.     If  Lemon  goes 
to  sleep,  he  wins;  if  he  don't,  he  loses. 
That's  all.     There  is  those,  of  course, 
who  wouldn't  sleep  on  a  whole  keg  of 
beer— 
Ah! 
And   Lemon's   got   a   mighty   paunch. 

It'd  take  a  lot  to  fill  it  and  then  go 

to  his  head. 
Ah! 
But  do  you  mean  to  say  Lemon  would 

so  much  as  dare  get  into — into  that 

thing  ? 
I  can't  say.     It's  not  up  to  me.     I'm 

referee. 

Look  at  it  over  there  waiting  for  him. 
With  its  mouth  wide  open. 
It  could  swallow  a  whale. 
Ain't  it  real  though  ? 
Ugh! 

Looks  as  though  it  was  taking  one  of  us. 
It's  big  enough  to. 

[79] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  SMOCK  — 
MRS.  SCRUBB 

MR.    SPICK  - 
MR.    RYAN 

MR.    WOUNDY 


MR.  JOUNCE  - 
MRS.  SCRUBB 
MR.  WOUNDY 


MR.    JOUNCE 


Look  at  the  wreath  stuck  to  its  side. 
And  them  wreaths  on  the  walls. 
Aint  it  ghost-like?      It  makes  me  creep. 
Sh!     He's  coming  back. 
Mr.  Woundy  returns, 
(rubbing  his  hands) — Did  I  hear  some 
body  remark  on  a  wreath?    Who 
was  it? 

Mother  Scrubb! 

Go  on,  you  pork-packer.  It  was — 
Peace,  peace,  good  friends.  It's  im 
material  who.  But  which  wreath — which 
wreath  did  you  mean  ?  This  one  ?  Maybe 
this  one  ?  Ah,  friends,  then  you  must  have 
meant  this  one!  (He  approaches  the 
coffin  and  strokes  the  wreath  affectionately) 
And  I  don't  blame  you.  It's  the  finest 
in  my  whole  establishment.  It'd  do 
honor  to  the  mayor  himself.  I'll  tell 
you  how  it  happened:  Says  I  to  myself: 
on  the  one  hand,  here's  our  much  loved 
neighbor,  Mr.  Edward  Lemon.  Giving 
him  all  his  deserts,  he's  a  brave  man,  a 
worthy  citizen,  fit  for  a  lion  keeper  more 
than  a  tamer  of  flowers.  He's  chal 
lenged  you,  Woundy,  actually  chal 
lenged  you — in  itself  a  wonderful  thing 
— to  sleep,  actually  to  go  to  sleep  in  a 
coffin — in  this  coffin  maybe.  (Patting 
it  tenderly) — Good .  We  won't  argue  the 
matter.  It  don't  need  arguing. 
He's  a  wonderful  brave  man,  indeed. 

[80] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MRS.  SCRUBB 
MRS.  SMOCK  - 
MR.  WOUNDY 


MRS.  SMOCK - 
MR.  WOUNDY 


MRS.  SMOCK  - 
MR.  WOUNDY 

MRS.  SMOCK  - 
MR.  WOUNDY 


MR.  JOUNCE  

MR.  WOUNDY  — 


To  think  of  his  daring  to — 
Yes,  in  that — 

On  the  other  hand,  says  I:  Trade — trade 
has  been  bad  lately,  very  bad.  For 
weeks  now,  nobody  in  the  village  has 
died;  nobody's  been  buried,  nobody's 
been  near  your  little  shop,  Woundy — 
well,  since  Lemuel  Zink  went  to  Ever 
green  Cemetery.  Mrs.  Smock — beg 
pardon,  mam,  I  mean  no  offense.  I've 
only  the  best  of  wishes  for  you.  But 
I've  got  to  tell  you  the  whole  of  my 
thoughts,  eh? 
Yes  sir! 

Thank  you,  mam.     Now  Mrs.  Smock, 
thanks  to  the  blessed  skill  of  Dr.  Small 
and  the  aid  of  the  Almighty,  got  past  her 
pneumonia.    Eh,  Mrs.  Smock? 
Yes  indeed,  sir.    Least  I  hope  so. 
You  understand,  mam — these  are  only 

my  thoughts. 
Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Woundy. 
Says  I  to  myself:  Trade  is  bad.     Mrs. 
Smock  has  escaped,  so  what's  to  happen 
now?   There's  nobody  sick  in  the  street, 
not  so  sick  that  they're  about  to  croak. 
And  yet,  there's  dead  things  all  around 
you — but  dead  people. 
What  are  you  at,  man? 
You  ought  to  get  me,  Jounce.    You're  a 
butcher.     Says  I:  there's  Jounce;  aint 
he  got  dead  things  around  him,  yet  he 

[81] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


don't  bury  them.  And  there's  Spick, 
the  fish-man;  he's  got  dead  things  all 
around  him,  but  he  don't  bury  them. 
And  there's  Ranseed,  the  grocer;  he's 
got  dead  things,  and  he  don't  bury  them. 
Everything  is  dead,  everything  is  dying 
— but  the  people  of  Varick  Street!  (He 
lowers  his  voice  to  an  ominous  dirge.  His 
auditors  are  huddling  together.  Only  Mr. 
Ryan  retains  his  non-committal  com 
posure.)  And  I  says  to  myself:  Well, 
Woundy,  if  you  can't  bury  any  more 
dead  men  you'll  have  to — who  knows  ? — 
maybe  you'll  have  to  bury  a  live  one! 
My  friends,  you  can  never  be  sure  about 
life  and  death.  The  queerest  things  will 
happen.  So  there's  only  one  thing  to 
do:  it's  to  be  prepared.  That's  why  you 
see  them  wreaths  on  the  walls.  (Pat 
ting  the  coffin  wreath) — And  that's  why 
this  little  beauty  is  here. 

MR.  SPICK —        What  do  you  mean? 

MR.  WOUNDY —  I  mean  that  I  know  and  you  don't. 

MR.  SPICK —        That  I  don't  know? 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  Not  you  alone,  Spick,  but  all  of  you.  If 
you  knew,  wouldn't  you  have  brought 
flowers — pansies  and  roses  and  lilies  and 
wreaths  and  horsehoes  and  angels'  wings 
and  such  like  ?  Wouldn't  you  have  pre 
pared?  You  would  have  bought  out 
Lemon's  whole  store. 

[82] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  RANSEED  —  But — but  what  is  it — what  is  it  you 

know  ? 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Ha,  Ranseed!  That  we'll  find  out  in 
another  breath.  Says  I  to  myself:  On 
the  one  hand,  there's  Mr.  Lemon,  our 
friend  and  neighbor.  He's  a  brave  man. 
He's  going  to  step  right  into  this  little 
box  here.  He's  going  to  try  and  go  to 
sleep.  He's  going  to  make  a  fool  of  old 
man  Woundy.  Good!  Maybe  he  will. 
I  hope  he  does.  But  on  the  other  hand: 
suppose  Mr.  Lemon  should  go  to  sleep, 
fooling  Mr.  Woundy  and  then — you 
never  can  know  about  life  and  death — 
and  trade  so  bad — the  queerest  things 
will  happen — suppose  Lemon  don't  wake 
up  again  ?  What  then  ?  Don't  be  fright 
ened,  friends.  There  ain't  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of?  Don't  we  all  go  the  way  of  a 
box  like  this  ?  Didn't  your  dear  husband 
and  children  go  this  way,  Mrs.  Scrubb, 
didn't  your  aunt,  Spick,  and  your  wife, 
father  and  grandfather,  Jounce,  and  your 
uncle,  mother  and  father,  Ranseed?  All 
our  mothers  and  fathers  and  grand 
mothers  and  grandfathers,  kind  friends? 
Why  should  we  be  afraid? 
Why  shouldn't  we  go  the  way  the  loved 
ones  went  ?  Look  at  them  pictures  on  the 
wall!  Every  one  a  Woundy!  That  one 
there  was  my  father.  And  he  an  under 
taker!  He  went  in  a  box  like  this, 

[83] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


carrying  his  trade  with  him.  That  one 
there  was  my  grandfather,  and  he  an 
undertaker.  He  went  in  a  box  like  this. 
And  I — the  last  of  the  Woundys — I'll 
go  in  a  box  like  this!  Am  I  afraid?  Do 
I  look  afraid? 
SEVERAL  —  No  sir,  no  indeed,  no — 

MR.  WOUNDY —  And  I  don't  think  Lemon  would  be. 
'Twas  only  my  thoughts,  friends.  My 
reason  for  the  wreaths,  for  this  little 
fellow  here.  If  Lemon  should  go  to 
sleep  and  not  wake  up,  where  would  his 
flowers  be?  Think  of  that,  and  you  his 
neighbors  all  these  years,  you  all  loving 
him!  No  funeral — no  funeral  is  com 
plete  without  flowers ! 
Blows  on  the  hall  door.  Fright,  disorder 

and  a  jumping  up  from  chairs. 

MR.  RYAN  —         (who  has  not  lost  his  equanimity) — Come 

in  whoever  you  are! 

The  door  is  pushed  open  and  somebody 
appears,  his  arms  so  burdened  with  flowers  that  his  head  is 
buried  from  view.  The  man  comes  up-stage  with  difficulty, 
and  drops  the  flowers  between  Mr.  Woundy  and  the  com 
pany.  There  stands  Mr.  Lemon,  smiling,  bowing,  rubbing 
his  hands. 
MR.  LEMON —  Good  evening,  good  friends. 

A  kaleidoscopic  reaction  on  the  part  of  the 
guests.     With  the  exception  of  Mr.  Ryan,  they  crowd  for 
ward  to  shake  hands. 
MR.  JOUNCE —     Ladies  first,  ladies  first! 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  SPICK  — 
MRS.  SCRUBB  - 

MR.  LEMON 


MR.  SPICK 

MR.  RANSEED 
MR.  JOUNCE  - 
MRS.  SCRUBB  - 


MR.  LEMON 

THE  COMPANY  - 

MR.  JOUNCE 

MR.  LEMON  — 


MRS.  SMOCK 


MR.  LEMON 


MR.  WOUNDY  — 


You're   a  sight   for  the  very   dead,   a 

flower  garden  itself. 
And  you  the  rose  of  them  all. 
(under  the  additional  embarrassment  of 

liquor,  but  with  extreme  unction) — 

Madam,    you    do   me    very   great 

honor. 

You  deserve  it,  sir. 
My  own  wife  would  love  you  for  it. 
And  mine  if  she  was  alive. 
If  you  was  only  a  marrying  man,  and  I 

hadn't    buried   my   man   only   six 

months  ago! 
Madam,  have  a  heart  for  my  feelings. 

You  offer  me — an  iris! 
Ah! 

And  there's  still  another,  Lemon. 
What's  that?     Well,  well,   dear  Mrs. 
Smock!     You   here?     Who   would   'a' 
thought  it  ?    (She  takes  his  hand  timidly.) 
I  didn't  think  you'd  come,  mam? 
I   didn't   know — I   didn't   know  but   I 
would — after  what  you  told  me — that  I 
was  well  enough  to  come — and  nothing — 
nothing  to  be  really  afraid  of? 
Why  no — not  at  all — what  makes  you  say 
that?     (He  notices  the  company  looking 
past  him,  at  Mr.  Woundy  standing  near 
the   coffin  in  a  mood  of  challenge   and 
annoyance.)     Ah,  Mr.  Woundy!     How 
do  you  do,  sir? 
Good  evening,  Lemon. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


Mr.  Woundy  takes  Mr.  Lemon  s  hand 

mechanically.    An  exchange  of  glances  sobers  the  florist,  and 

he  eyes  the  coffin. 

MR.  LEMON  —  In  real  professional  style,  Mr.  Woundy. 

Just  like  a  real  funeral,  sir. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  It'll  be  your  funeral,  Lemon. 

MR.  LEMON  —  Well,  and  a  wreath,  a  funeral  wreath. 
That  was  real  thoughtful  of  you.  (He 
handles  it  with  critical  playfulness.)  It 
looks  like  an  old  one.  It  aint  quite  up- 
to-date,  is  it? 

MR.  WOUNDY  —  It's  good  enough  for  you. 

MR.  LEMON  —  You  must  forgive  me,  I've  always  an  eye 
for  trade.  Them  up  there'll  do,  Mr. 
Woundy,  but  not  this  one,  right  on  the 
coffin  itself.  (The  guests  approach  as 
near  as  they  dare.) 

MR.    WOUNDY —    What? 

MR.  LEMON  —  (going  to  his  flowers  with  a  business-like 
air) — Something  told  me  Mr.  Woundy 
was  going  to  do  things  in  style,  so  I  says: 
Edward  Lemon,  it's  best  to  be  prepared. 
(Guests  nudge  one  another.)  I  says: 
You're  in  the  flower  business,  Mr. 
Woundy  aint.  It's  possible  our  good 
neighbor  wont  be  up-to-date  when  it 
comes  to  the  decorations .  So — I  brought 
— this  little  fellow  here.  Aint  he  a 
beauty?  (He  holds  up  an  ornate  wreath 
across  which  runs  the  word,  L-E-M-0-N . 
Mr.  Woundy  is  momentarily  overcome. 
The  guests  applaud.  Mr.  Lemon  returns 

[86] 


UNEASY  STREET 


to  the  coffin,  but  Mr.  Woundy  bars  his 

way.      The  applause  stops.     Mr.  Ryan 

steps  between  the  rivals.) 

MR.  RYAN —        Mr.  Woundy!    Mr.  Lemon's  right. 
MR.  WOUNDY —  Mr.  Ryan! 
MR.  RYAN —        Mr.  Woundy!    I'm  referee  here. 

Mr.  Woundy  moves  aside  with  bad  grace. 
Mr.  Ryan  takes  Mr.  Lemon  s  wreath  and  substitutes  it  for 
the  undertaker's. 

MR.  LEMON —        And  now  to  the  flowers! 
MR.  JOUNCE —     Yes,  the   flowers,    Lemon.      Why  the 

flowers  ? 
MR.  LEMON —      Is  a  funeral  complete  without  flowers? 

(Sensation.)      Ah,    friends!      Did    you 

think  of  flowers?    Did  you,  Mr.  Spick? 

Did  you,  Mr.  Jounce  ?   And  the  ladies — 

not  even  the  ladies  ? 
MRS.  SCRUBB  —   But  we  didn't  know  we  was  coming  to  a 

funeral  ? 
MR.  LEMON —      That's  so,  aint  it  though?      You  must 

forgive  me,  friends.    You  all  came  to  a 

sleeping  contest,  eh? 
THE  COMPANY  —  Yes,  yes! 

MR.  LEMON —      To  sleep  or  not  to  sleep,  as  the  poet  says. 
THE  COMPANY  —  Yes,  yes! 
MR.  LEMON —      You  did  right  not  to  bring  flowers.  After 

all,  none  of  you  is  florists.    None  of  you 

understands  about  flowers.     Well,  it's 

this  way:  if  I  don't  go  to  sleep — if  I 

can't — 

SEVERAL  —  But  you  will,  you  will — 

MR.  LEMON —      Well,  if  I   do  go  to  sleep,   I'll  sleep. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MR.  WOUNDY  - 

MR.  LEMON 


MRS.  SMOCK  — 
MR.  LEMON 

MRS.  SCRUBB  - 
MR.  LEMON 

MRS.  SCRUBB  - 
MR.  LEMON 

MRS.  SCRUBB  - 
MR.  LEMON 


That's  plain.  You're  all  so  kind  and 
understanding.  But  suppose — did  you 
think  of  that — suppose  I  shouldn't  wake 
up  again?  What  of  that,  eh?  (Every 
body  stares  at  Mr.  Woundy.  He  smirks 
malevolently.)  You  see,  Mr.  Woundy 
understands. 
You  bet  I  do. 

Ah,  friends,  you  don't  know  what  life  is, 
like  me  and  Mr.  Woundy.  I  see  it 
grow,  he  sees  it  die.  And  7  see  it  die. 
Haven't  I  watched  them  all  my  life? 
Tended  them  since  I  was  no  higher  than 
a  daisy  ?  Given  them  so  much  water  and 
so  much  sun?  Sprinkled  them  like  a 
mother  ?  But  even  the  best  of  them  dies . 
And  aint  we — aint  we  all  flowers  ? 
But  if  you'd  die,  you'd  bloom  again. 

In  Heaven  at  least! 

And  that's  how  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
know  and   why    I    brought    all    them 
decorations. 
With  all  this  sleeping  and  dying  you're 

running  daft.    What's  itching  you? 
First  of  all,  mam,  it  aint  every  man  can 

come  to  his  own  funeral  ? 
No. 
And  it  aint  every  man  can  bring  his  own 

flowers  ? 
No. 

So  I  brought  my  own  flowers  to  my  own 
funeral!      But    you    mustn't    think    I 

[88] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  JOUNCE  — 

MR.    LEMON 

MR.    RANSEED- 

MR.    LEMON 

MR.    SPICK 

MR.    LEMON 


MR.    WOUNDY- 
MR.    LEMON 


MRS.    SMOCK  — 
MR.    LEMON 


brought  them  for  myself  to  give  myself. 
Trade  on  Varick  Street — trade  is  bad. 
Jounce  has  been  suffering. 
I  should  say  so. 
Ranseed's  complaining — 

That  I  am — 

The  fish  game  is  drooping. 
That  it  is — 

Why  Mr.  Woundy  himself,  as  has  al 
ways  done  a  thriving  trade,  was  say 
ing  only  this  evening — 

Leave  me  out! 

Pardon,  sir,  no  offense  intended!  I  says: 
Everybody's  suffering — everybody  but 
you,  Edward  Lemon.  With  you,  flowers 
is  always  in  demand.  When  there  aint 
funerals  there's  christenings.  When 
there  aint  christenings  there's  church 
sociables.  There's  always  something. 
Why  don't  you  be  generous?  You're 
going  to  this  funeral  of  yours.  Take  a 
few  flowers  to  give  yourself,  but  take 
bunches  and  bunches  for  your  friends  to 
give  you.  (Atmosphere  clears.)  So 
here  they  are,  friends.  Look  at  them. 
We'll  bury  you  under  them  so  the  whole 

world'll  know  where  you  lie. 
A  pretty  speech,  mam.    Just  like  you  to 
say  that.    But  to  work!   The  hour  grows 
late  and  I  must  sleep!     Mrs.  Scrubb, 
what'll  you  have  ? 

[89] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.    SCRUBB  — 
MR.    LEMON 

MRS.    SMOCK 

MR.    LEMON 

MR.    RANSEED- 
MR.    LEMON  — 

MR.    SPICK 

MR.    LEMON 


MR.JOUNCE  

MR.    LEMON  — 


MR.    JOUNCE 

MR.    LEMON  - 
MR.    JOUNCE 

MR.    LEMON - 
MR.    JOUNCE 


I  aint  soft  on  flowers.    But  you  can  give 
me  them  yellow  things,  thanking  you. 
Jonquils,  mam.    The  return  of  affection. 
Mrs.  Smock — these  arbutuses  for  you? 
What  may  they  be  ? 

The  first  flower  of  spring.    Just  like  you, 
they  come  back  every  year.    Just  when 
you  think  they're  gone.    Mr.  Ranseed  ? 
Sweet  peas  for  me,  Neighbor  Lemon! 
Ah,    the   symbol   of  your   trade.    Mr. 

Spick? 

What  do  I  want  with  flowers,  a  man  of 
the  sea  like  me  ? 

Ah,  that  shows  you  don't  know  your 
trade.     Ain't  there  seaweed  and  coral 
and  the  like?     You  must  take  these 
ferns.      Who's  left  now?     Mr.  Jounce! 
Flowers  is  for  women,  Lemon. 
You've  got  to  take  something.     You 
shall  have  pinks.    The  nearest  I've  got 
to  the  blood  of  beef. 
You're  going  daft.     Mother   Scrubb's 

right.    You  and  your  dying. 
You  ought  to  know  better,  sir. 
I  know  what  I  know.    You're  going  to 

sleep — if  you  can.    That's  all. 
Haven't  I  been  after  explaining — 
That  you  won't  wake  up  ?    Suppose  you 
do  go  to  sleep  and  win  your  bet — as  / 
hope — (He  dares  to  throw  a  glance  at  Mr. 
Woundy.)     Don't    you   think  we'll  be 
able  to  wake  you  ? 


90 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  LEMON  - 
MR.  JOUNCE 


MR.  LEMON 

MR.  RYAN 

MR.  WOUNDY  - 

MR.  LEMON 

MR.  WOUNDY  — 

MR.  RYAN 

MR.  LEMON 


MR.  RYAN 

MR.  LEMON 

MR.  WOUNDY - 
MR.  LEMON 


MR.  RYAN 

MR.  WOUNDY 
MR.  RYAN 


How  so  ? 

Maybe  we'll  let  you  sleep  a  little  while, 

but  do  you  think  we'll  let  you  more  than 

that?     (General  delight.     Mr.    Woundy 

occupies  himself  with  imaginary  cares.) 

We'll  see  about  that,  Mr.  Jounce,  in  its 

right     season.    Who    else    now?     Mr. 

Ryan? 

Count  me  out,  I'm  referee. 

Lemon,  when  are  you  coming  to  the  end 

,  of  this? 

Sorry,  Mr.  Woundy — 
You  and  your  weeds  and  sickly  twaddle! 

Ryan,  I  appeal  to  you! 
Mr.  Lemon,  I  got  to  decide  against  you. 

The  time  is  getting  on. 
Right    you    are,    sir.      Friends,    you'll 
have  to  excuse  me  now.    (The  guests  re 
turn  to  the  chairs.    But  all  want  the  front 
ones  this  time.)     I'm  ready,  Mr.  Ryan. 
Then  you'll  step  in  as  you  are? 
No,  not  quite.    If  Mr.  Woundy  don't 
mind,    I'd  like  to  make  a  little  change. 
Afraid  of  soiling  your  clothes  ? 
It  ain't  that,   but   I'd   be  more   com 
fortable  without  my  coat  and  vest  and 
this  collar. 
Why  not  take  Mr.  Lemon  into  your  bed 

room  for  a  wink  or  two  ? 
Very  well. 
Will  you  want  any  comforts  in  the  coffin 

itself?     Pillows  or — 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MR.  LEMON  —      No,  I'll  go  just  like  everybody  else  goes. 
MR.  RYAN —        Good.     Fair  play  to  both  sides.     You 

may  go,  gentlemen. 

(Mr.  Woundy  leads  the  way,  bows  sardon 
ically  for  Mr.  Lemon  to  enter  first,  gives  the  guests  an  ominous 
scowl  and  follows.) 

MRS.  SCRUBB —  Aint  they  the  terrible  pair  ? 
MRS.  SMOCK —     Mr.  Lemon  is  a  most  beautiful  man. 
MR.  SPICK  —        To  think  of  him,  just  to  think  of  him — 

(Mr.  Jounce  rises  suddenly.) 
MRS.  SCRUBB  —   What's  wrong  with  you  ? 
MR.  JOUNCE  —     I'm  off. 
MRS.  SCRUBB  —  Is  it  afraid  you  are? 
MR.  JOUNCE —     Me   afraid?     Afraid   nothing!     I'll   be 

back  in  a  second.    (Stopping  at  the  hall 

door  and  winking.) 
MR.  RYAN  —         Be  sure  you  come  back  on  your  toes — 

easy-like. 

MR.  JOUNCE  —     All  right.     (He  tip-toes  out.) 
MRS.  SCRUBB  —  He's  gone  daft  too. 
MR.  RANSEED  —  He's  scared  to  be  out  so  late. 
MRS.  SCRUBB —  Him  scared  ?    Not  him! 
MR.  SPICK —        Who's  afraid  anyhow? 
MR.  RANSEED —  Yes,  who's  afraid  ? 

(The  guests  eye  one  another  and  smile 
evasively.) 

MRS.  SCRUBB —  Aint  he  the  brave  one  though? 
MR.  SPICK —        Who,  Jounce? 
MRS.  SMOCK —    No,  Mr.  Lemon.     Him  so  kind  and  soft 

and  gentle. 

MR.  SPICK —        Do  you  think  he'll  do  it  ? 
MRS  .  SMOCK  —     Go  to  sleep  in  the  coffin  ? 

[92] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  RANSEED —  Course  he  will. 

MR.  SPICK  —  It  don't  look  so  terrible  now.  I  think — 
I  think  I  could  sleep  in  it  myself.  (Mr. 
Woundy  returns  >  stops  and  listens.) 

MRS.  SMOCK  —     You  go  to  sleep  in  the  coffin? 

MR.  SPICK —        (timidly) — Yes,  me. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Come  on,  Spick!  (Mr.  Spick  nearly 
tumbles  from  his  chair.  Mr.  Woundy 
confronts  him.)  Well,  Spick? 

MR.  SPICK  —        I  was — I  was  only — 

MR.  WOUNDY —  You  was,  you  was — you  yellow  shrimp! 

MR.  RANSEED  —  Spick  was  only  fooling-like. 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Then  you  could  do  it,  Ranseed? 

MR.  RANSEED —  Oh,  no,  not  me! 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Is  there  anybody  thinks  he  can?  (No 
answer.)  You're  a  fine  lot,  you  and  your 
flowers.  You  look  like  a  hot-house. 
Huh !  Where's  Jounce  ? 

MR.  RANSEED  —  He's  gone  away — 

MR.  WOUNDY —  Afraid,  eh?  Jounce  the  butcher,  Jounce 
the  bold!  What?  Why  didn't  the  rest 
of  you  sneak  off  ?  The  lot  of  you — the 
lot  of  you  together  wouldn't  make  one 
decent  burial.  I  wouldn't  waste  one  box 
on  you. 

MR.  RYAN  —         (touching  him  on  the  shoulder) — Come, 
Mr.    Woundy.        Don't    bother    with 
them.    We're  wasting  time. 
Mr.  Woundy  turns  with  a  scowl  and  fol 
lows  Mr.  Ryan  to  the  coffin.     The  guests  nudge  one  another 

stealthily.    Mr.  Woundy  sits  down  in  the  arm  chair. 

MR.  RYAN —         (calling  out) — Well,  Mr.  Lemon? 

[93] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MR.  LEMON  —      (calling  back) — In  another  wink,  sir. 

All  eyes  watch  the  bed  room  door.     Mr. 
Lemon  makes  a  sensational  entrance  in  a  pair  of  lively 
yellow  pajamas  and  a  saucy   pink  night-cap  dotted  with 
violets.    His  air  is  one  of  modest  bravado.    Mr.  Woundy, 
who  has  arisen,  has  to  sit  down  again.     With  one  will,  the 
would-be  mourners  leave  their  places  and  try  to  intercept 
Mr.  Lemon.    He  escapes  by  joining  Mr.  Ryan. 
MR.  RANSEED  —  You're  doing  the  thing  in  style,  old  boy. 
MR.  SPICK  —        Better  than  Romeo. 
MRS.  SCRUB B  —  If  you  was  only  a  marrying  man! 
MR.  RYAN  —        Back  with  you  all! 
MR.  RANSEED  —  You'll  die  a  hero,  old  boy. 
MR.  SPICK  —        The  death  of  Caesar. 
MRS.  SCRUBB  —  And  we'll  bury  you. 

(They  threaten  him  with  their  flowers.) 
MR.  RYAN  —         Get  back,  I  say,  or  Pll  break  your  heads. 
MR.  RANSEED  —  (standing  his  ground  as  the  others  retreat) 

Can  you  yawn,  Lemon?     (Mr.  Lemon 

yawns   a   magnificent   yawn.)       That'll 

help  some. 
MR.  SPICK —        Anybody  as  can  yawn  can  sleep. 

MRS.    SCRUBB —    You'll  win. 

MR.  RANSEED —  You'll  die  all  right. 

(Mr.   Ryan  raises  a  majestic  forefinger. 
Mr.   Ranseed  joins  the  others.      The  audience  sits  down 
noisily.) 
MR.  RYAN —        Silence  in  the  court  room!     Are  you 

ready,  Mr.  Lemon? 
MR.  LEMON  —      I  am,  sir. 
MR.  RYAN  —        And  you,  Mr.  Woundy  ? 
MR.  WOUNDY —  I  am. 

[94] 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.  RYAN  — 
THE  RIVALS 

MR.  RYAN 

THE  RIVALS  — 
MR.  RYAN 


MR, 
MR, 

MR, 
MR, 


LEMON 

RYAN 

LEMON 

RYAN 


Are  there  any  questions? 

No. 

Everything  clear? 

Yes. 

Mr.  Lemon,  you're  to  go  to  sleep  inside 
of  five  minutes.    Am  I  right? 

You  are. 

And  if  you  fail  you're  to  treat  each  of 
us  to  a  glass  of  beer  at  O'Sullivan's  ? 

I  am. 

And  if  he  don't,  Mr.  Woundy,  you — 
MR.  WOUNDY  —  That'll  do,  Ryan!    You'll  be  putting  me 

to  sleep.     Everything's  clear. 
MR.  RYAN  —        Then  go  ahead! 

Mr.  Woundy,  controlling  himself,  sits 
down.  Mr.  Lemon,  after  acknowledging  some  applause 
with  a  humble  bow,  approaches  the  coffin,  manages  to  get  his 
left  leg  over  the  side,  and  paws  about  with  his  foot  like  a  man 
testing  the  temperature  of  a  bath  tub.  His  girth  handicaps 
him.  Deferentially,  Mr.  Ryan,  with  a  lift  and  shove, 
helps  him  disappear. 

THE    COMPANY  —  Ah! 

MR.  RYAN  —         (bending  over  the  coffin) — You  comfort 
able? 

MR.  LEMON —      (faintly) — Yes/ 
MR.  RYAN  —         Pull  in  your  elbow. 
MR.  LEMON  —      Thank  you. 
MR.  RYAN —        Are  you  ready? 
MR.  LEMON —      (almost  inaudibly) — Yes. 
MR.  RYAN  —        Then  let  her  go! 

(Mr.  Ryan  reaches  up  and  lowers  the  gas 
till  the  room  is  in  semi-darkness.) 

[95] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


THE    COMPANY  —  Ah! 

Mr.  Ryan  again  raises  a  majestic  fore 
finger.  The  guests  lean  forward.  They  look  ready  to  fall 
from  their  places. 

MR.    RYAN —  Sh — sh! 

THE    COMPANY  —  Sh — sh! 

The  stillness  of  a  funeral  vault  at  night. 
Mr.  Ryan  looks  into  the  coffin,  tip-toes  to  the  foot,  takes  out 
his  watch,  holds  it  to  his  ear,  nods  and  faces  the  guests.  Mr. 
Woundy  has  drawn  himself  into  a  ball.  A  yawn,  like  the 
howl  of  a  jackal,  from  the  coffin,  and  then  silence.  All  ears 
are  strained  toward  the  coffin,  all  eyes  toward  Mr.  Ryan. 

Seconds    pass.     Mr.    Ryan    raises    one 
finger.     Somebody  moves  his  chair  and  Mr.  Ryan  waves  a 
warning.     More  seconds  pass.     Mr.  Ryan  raises  two  fin 
gers.     The  hall  door  is  opened  noiselessly.     Mr.  Jounce 
appears  through  the  gloom.     The  guests  motion  to  him 
excitedly.     He  places  something  under  the  table  and  tip 
toes  over  to  the  audience.     He  sits  down  carefully. 
MR.  JOUNCE  —     (in  a  nervous  whisper) — How  many? 
MR.  SPICK —        Two! 

Mr.  Ryan  raises  three  fingers.  The 
guests  are  in  a  state  of  agony.  Mr.  Woundy  is  leaning 
forward.  More  seconds  pass.  A  sound  like  a  cat  purring  ? 
Excited  nudging.  A  second  sound,  a  modest,  elegiac  snore. 
Mr.  Woundy  rises.  The  guests  desert  their  places  and  edge 
forward.  A  third  snore,  no  longer  bashful,  but  brazen, 
egotistic,  triumphant.  An  outburst  of  laughter  from  the 
guests;  they  charge  upon  the  coffin. 
MR.  RYAN —  (unable  to  hold  them  back) — Three 

minutes  and  forty-six  seconds! 
MR.  JOUNCE  —     (turning  up  the  gas) — Hurray! 

[96] 


UNEASY  STREET 


THE  COMPANY  —  Hurray! 

They  throw  their  flowers  on  Mr.  Lemon. 
MR.  RANSEED  —  (shaking  him)  —  Wake  up,  Lemon,  wake 


MR.  SPICK  — 
MRS.  SMOCK  — 
MR.  RANSEED 
MRS.  SMOCK  — 
MR.  JOUNCE  — 


MRS.  SMOCK  — 
MRS.  SCRUBB  — 
MRS.  SMOCK  — 
MR.  JOUNCE  — 


MR.    LEMON  — 

MR.   JOUNCE  — 
MR.    RYAN  — 


Wake,  Juliet,  wake! 
Is  it  dead  he  is  ? 
—  Dead  with  a  roar  like  that  ? 

Wake  him,  wake  him  before  he  dies! 
Fll  wake  him  —  hold  on  —  let  me  do  it! 
(He  stoops  for  something  under  the  table.) 
There's  a  spell  on  him! 
A  ghost  has  got  him! 
Edward,  Edward,  open  your  eyes! 
(stationing  himself  behind,  the  coffin)  — 
One  moment,  please.     Let  me  at  him! 
Will  you  look  at  them  yellow  pajamas! 
(In  a  sort  of  incantation)  —  Lift  your  head, 
yellow  pansy,  lift  your  head  to  mother 
dear!     (A  sprinkling  can  of  splendid  pro 
portions  appears.     The  guests  are  con 
vulsed.     Mr.  Jounce  sprinkles  carelessly) 
Lift  your  head,  yellow  pansy.     Mother 
is  sprinkling  you. 

(sits   up,    rubs   his   eyes,    stares   at   his 
neighbors,  and  begins  drying  his  face  with 
his  sleeve)  —  What  the  devil  ! 
Not  the  devil,  but  your  angel  mother! 

(He  puts  down  the  can.) 
(tapping    the    victor)  —  Come    out,    sir. 
You've  won. 
Mr.    Lemon   pushes  _the  flowers   aside. 

[97] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


They  topple  onto  the  floor.     Struggling,  the  florist  is  tugged, 
lifted,  dragged,  yanked  from  the  coffin. 
MR.  RANSEED —  Speech,  speech! 
OTHERS  —  Speech,  speech! 

Mr.  Lemon  tries  to  say  something,  but  he 
catches  sight  of  Mr.   Woundy,  supported  by,  rather  than 
leaning  against  the  coffin.     The  guests  follow  the  florist9 s 
stare  and  look  petrified.     But  Mr.  Spick  leads  an  attack 
on  the  undertaker. 
MR.  SPICK —        Afraid! 
OTHERS —  Afraid! 

MRS.  SCRUBB —  The  worm  as  has  buried  us  all!     (Mr. 

Lemon  forces  his  way  to  Mr.  Woundy9 s 

side.)     Our  grandfathers — 

MR.  RANSEED  —  Our  mothers  and  grandmothers — 
JOUNCE  —     My  wife,  father — 

And  he'd  bury  us  too! 

Let's  bury  him! 

Yes,  pitch  him  into  the  coffin! 

He's  dead  enough! 

(Hands   reach  for   Mr.    Woundy.      He 

retreats.) 

RANSEED —  Revenge  on  him! 
JOUNCE  —     He  used  to  sit  waiting  for  us  to  come. 

Chilling    the    marrow    in    our    bones. 

Waiting  for  years,  waiting  like  a  spider. 

And  us  flies  crawling  along  the  other 

side  of  the  street.     He's  been  fooling  us. 

He's  a  fraud! 

And  us  afraid  of  a  fraud! 

Now  he's  come  to  us  to  be  buried,  forty 

cents,  carcass,  soul  and  all!     It's  our 

[98] 


MR. 


MRS.    SMOCK 

MR.    JOUNCE  

MR.    SPICK 

MR.    JOUNCE 


MR 
MR 


MR.    SPICK 

MR.    JOUNCE 


UNEASY  STREET 


MR.    RANSEED - 

MR.    SPICK 

OTHERS 

MR.    LEMON 


MR.    JOUNCE 


MR.    SPICK  — 
MR.    JOUNCE  — 


MR.    SPICK  — 
MR.    RANSEED  - 
MR.    SPICK  — 
MR.   JOUNCE  — 
MR.    LEMON  — 
MR.    SPICK  — 
MR.   JOUNCE  — 
MR.    RANSEED  - 
MR.    SPICK 


turn  now.  Away  with  him!  To  O'Sul- 
livan's! 

Into  the  box  and  off  to  O'Sullivan's! 
Afraid! 
Afraid! 

Come  and  help  me,  Ryan!  (Mr.  Ryan 
shakes  his  head.) —  Spick — Ranseed — 
Jounce — shame  on  you!  Butchers  and 
grocers  and  fish-men  acting  so!  Is  this 
how  you  treat  a  man  when  he's  down? 
Our  Neighbor  Woundy !  What's  Varick 
Street  coming  to? 

Varick  Street?  Varick  Street's  come 
into  its  own!  It's  our  turn  now!  Ha, 
Lemon !  We  know  you  too !  We've  got 
you  at  last !  You  and  your  flower  talk — 
you're  as  big  a  fraud  as  that  body 
snatcher! 
Two  of  a  kind ! 

You've  been  in  league — scheming 
against  us — him  with  his  coffin  and  you 
with  your  weeds! 

Neighbor  Woundy  and  Neighbor  Lemon! 
We've  listened  to  you  two  all  these  years! 
Our  tongues  scared  stiff  as  dead  fish! 
Now  you've  got  to  listen  to  us ! 
Jounce — Ranseed — Spick — 
Shut  up,  you  pink  geranium! 
Or  you'll  go  in  the  same  box  with  him! 
Go  the  way  the  loved  ones  went! 
With  grandfather,  father — and  Woundy 
himself! 

[99] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


Mr.  Lemon  continues  to  struggle  toward 
his  neighbor,  but  Mrs.  Scrubb  slips  his  wreath  around  his 
neck  and  holds  him.  Mr.  Woundy,  no  longer  resisting,  is 
thrust  into  the  coffin.  He  disappears  with  a  strange  smile. 
MR.  LEMON  —  I'll  have  to  get  dressed. 
MR.  JOUNCE  —  No,  you  don't — you'll  go  as  you  are, 

pretty  pansy. 

I'll  catch  my  death  o'  cold. 

Woundy'll  bury  you  cheap! 

That  I  will,  Lemon. 

Ha,  Woundy  submits! 

Woundy  capitulates! 


LEMON  — 

JOUNCE 

WOUNDY 

JOUNCE 

SPICK 


MR, 
MR. 
MR, 
MR, 
MR, 

MR.  RANSEED —  Woundy  knows  his  betters! 

MRS.  SMOCK —     We'll  carry  him  gently — as  mothers  do. 

MRS.  SCRUBB  —  Like  undertakers. 

MR.  RANSEED —  Like  pallbearers. 

JOUNCE  —     And  do  it  cheaper  than  you — 

The  last  of  the  Woundys! 

For  forty  cents  and  a  tip  to  the  grave- 
diggers! 

On  to  O'Sullivan's! 

On  to  O'Sullivan's! 

We'll  drink,  long  life  to  Varick  Street! 

(from  the  coffin  depths) — And  a  long  life 
hereafter! 

Solemn  exit — Mr.  Lemon  led  by  the  women 
clutching  the  wreath-collar,  followed  by  the  pallbearers — two 
at  the  head  and  two  at  the  foot — carrying  the  coffin. 

CURTAIN 


MR. 
MR. 
MR. 


SPICK  — 
RANSEED 


MR.    JOUNCE  — 
THE    REST  — 
MR.    JOUNCE  — 
MR.    WOUNDY  — 


[100] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 

• 
A  Tragi-Comedy 


To  Gordon  Craig 

and 
His  Marionnettes 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 

A  Tragi-Comedy 
CHARACTERS: 

JIM 
HAL 
THE  WAITER 

One  of  the  dimly  lighted  windows  of  a  cafe  seen 
from  the  street.    The  rest  of  the  building,  and  of  its  environs, 
in  darkness.     At  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  the  shade  of  the 
window  is  down.    Behind  it,  a  distinct  murmur  of  voices: 
FIRST —     My  head's  really  hot.     I've  been  having  too 

much. 
SECOND  —  Tut,  lad.     It's  not  the  wine,  but  this  corner 

we're  in.    It's  getting  stuffy. 
FIRST  —     I'll  raise  the  shade — 
SECOND  —  And  betray  our  privacy?  (They  laugh  quietly.) 

Wait — don't  you  bother.    Let  the  waiter  do  it. 

(Louder) — I    say  there — Waiter!      Raise  this 

shade,  will  you? 

Pause.  An  unseen  hand  raises  the  shade.  The 
window  is  oblong,  with  the  long  lines  horizontal.  It  is  com 
posed  of  three  panels.  In  the  first  and  third,  two  young  men 
are  seated  in  profile.  One  can  only  see  their  heads,  torsos 
and  arms.  Their  chairs  and  table  stand  below  the  lower 
frame  of  the  window.  Most  of  the  significant  action  which 
ensues,  appertaining  to  the  entrances,  pantomime  and  ex- 
eunts  of  the  mens  hands,  wine-bottles,  glasses,  etc.,  unfolds 
in  the  lower  half  of  the  middle  panel,  and  in  the  upper  half, 
as  regards  the  entrances  and  exits  of  the  waiter.  One  cannot 
see  his  head;  it  is  always  higher  than  the  upper  frame  of  the 
window.  The  action  is  vivid,  incisive,  rhythmical,  and 

[103] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


symbolical  of  the  given  mood  or  speech.  The  three  men  are 
in  conventional  evening  dress.  Jim  is  framed  by  the  left, 
Hal  by  the  right  panel.  Jim  is  romantic  and  considerably 
younger  than  Hal  in  appearance,  but  older,  slower,  graver 
in  intonation  and  gesture.  His  features  haven't  attained 
their  ultimate  outline;  Hal's  have.  His  have  the  air  of  an 
ascetic.  The  scene  might  be  suggested  thus: 


WAITER 

JIM 

Action   of  hands,    bottles, 
glasses,  etc. 

HAL 

The   waiter  turns   mechanically   and  slowly   dis 
appears. 

JIM —  That's  better,  Hal. 
HAL  —  Rather  hot  these  nights,  eh? 
JIM  —  No,  it's  the  wine. 

HAL  —  Maybe  something  else  does  it — something  not  to 
night  or  the  wine  ? 
JIM  —  What  do  you  mean  now  ? 
HAL  —  Give  it  up  ? 
JIM  —  Yes,  you're  cryptic  again. 
HAL  —  To-morrow,  you  turtle! 
JIM  —  Guilty.    (He  laughs  sheepishly.) 
HAL  —  Forgotten  her  so  soon  ? 

JIM —  Not  quite.     But  after  we've  talked  nothing  but 
Stella,  Stella,  ever  since  we  came,  and  to 
morrow,  tomorrow — 
HAL  —  What  then  ? 
JIM  —  Why — since  they're  the  only  two  topics  I  can  feel 

about,  think  about,  talk  about — and  the  two  you 

[  104  ] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


like  most  to  humor  me  in — well,  it  was  only 
Christian  of  me  to  try  a  new  one. 

HAL  —  Why? 

JIM  —  Don't  play  the  innocent.  To-morrow's  my  party, 
not  yours. 

HAL  —  It'll  be  mine — outside  looking  on!  (He  laughs  jo 
vially.) 

JIM  —  Drop  your  eternal  banter. 

HAL  —  Why  so  serious  ?   You've  grown  positively  solemn. 

JIM  —  It's  the  heat — the  wine — to-morrow — hang  it,  I'm 
nervous — it's — 

HAL  —  You! 

JIM—  Me? 

HAL  —  It's  not  alone  you — but  every  man  the  night  be 
fore — 

JIM —  Don't  degrade  it.  You  needn't  class  us  with 
common — 

HAL  —  There,  there! 

JIM  —  Why  shouldn't  I  be  solemn  ? — 

HAL  —  It's  your  last  night — 

JIM  —  What  do  you  mean  now  ? 

HAL  —  Touchy!  You  know  tradition  says  that  the  night 
before  a  man  marries  he  shall  spend  with  the 
boys — 

JIM  —  Hang  tradition — 

HAL  —  And  that  the  boys  in  this  instance — so  we  agreed — 
are  concentrated  in  me  ? — 

JIM  —  Drown  tradition,  I  say — 

HAL  —  So  do  I,  lad.    Fill  them  up  again. 

The  bottle,  held  out  by  Hal,  appears  in  the  middle 

panel. 

JIM  —  Hold  on,  old  man,  I've  had  enough. 

[105] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  -  -  But  this  one's  exceptional — iconoclastic — one  gulp 
will  do  it  ? 

Jim's  glass  appears  reluctantly,  wavering  a  little. 
7  he  bottle  tilts  to  the  horizontal,  and  then  to  the  upside-down 
perpendicular. 

HAL  —  Hello — empty!    I  say,  Waiter — another  quart— 
JIM  -  -  No,  Hal,  no! 

Bottle  and  glass  exeunt. 
HAL  —  Make  it  a  pint  this  time— 
JIM  -     The  last — it's  getting  late — and  to-morrow— 
HAL  —  Is  near!   A  pint  this  time,  Waiter. 

The  waiter  appears,  bows  almost  imperceptibly, 
and  disappears. 
HAL  —  A  slow  old  cuss  that.    And  silent.    Acts  as  though 

he'd  lost  his  tongue. 

JIM  -  -  (with  sudden  animation) — I  say — Hal! 
HAL  -  -  Yes  ? 

JIM  -  -  (eagerly) — Am  I — really — worthy  of  her? 
HAL  -  -  What — again  ? 
JIM  -  •  I  can't  help  it.  Do  you  really  think  I'll — make  her 

happy — and  keep  her  happy— 
HAL  --  Reptition  three  hundred  and  sixty-six!- 
JIM  -  •  I  know,  old  man,  but  once  for  all— 
HAL  —  Once  for  all,  Jim,  that  isn't  the  question!    Of 

course,  you'll  make  her  happy,  keep  her  happy— 

but  the  real  question  is— 
JIM-     What? 

To  Jim's  disgust,  the  waiter  reappears,  leaves  the 
smaller  bottle,  bows  as  before  and  disappears. 
HAL  -  -  Weird  fellow  that- 
JIM  -  •  What  is  the  question? 
HAL  --  Fill  them  up  first. 

[106] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


The  bottle  and  Jim's  glass  reappear^the  glass  more 

unconscious*  steadier  >  than  before.    Hal  fills  it;  glass  and 

bottle  disappear.     Soon  Hafs  filled  glassjappears — tit  a 

direct  approach. 

JIM —  The  question? 

HAL  —  Don't  look  so  suspicious.    And  tradition  comes 
first.    Let's  get  rid  of  it. 

JIM —  Fd  rather  drink  to  her — as  usual. 

HAL  —  Certainly!  You  intuitive  cuss!  Stella — the  enemy 

of  tradition — let  her  sink  it!   Ready? 
Jim's  glass  reappears.    The  glasses  clink. 

HAL  —  To  Stella. 

They  drink — first  Jim>  quickly  and  awkwardly* 

narrowly  watched  for  a  moment  by  Hal— and  then^Hal^de^ 

liberately. 

JIM —  Now! 

HAL  —  To  business,  eh? 

JIM  -    Ugly  word! 

HAL  —  To  work — is  that  better? 

JIM-  •  Much.    Begin. 

HAL  —  (cautiously) — Lad,  I'm  older  than  you. 

JIM  -  -  (sullenly) — I've  heard  that  before. 

HAL  -  -  I've  been  through  more,  suffered  more — I  know 
more.  Head  and  heart  have  finally  learned  their 
respective  functions.  Don't  feat  each  other  peri 
odically.  Not  about  love. 

JIM  -  -  Ha,  now  I  know  what  made  you  a  recluse — 

HAL  —  Rats! 

JIM  —  No,  cats! 

HAL  —  Shut  up — where  was  I? 

JIM  -  -  On  the  point  of  dubbing  me,  an  adolescent  ass* 

[107] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  Don't  be  one  now.    I'm  not  talking  down.     But 
across  the  level  of  this  table. 

JIM —  Why  the  preamble?    It  sounds  prophetic. 

HAL  —  Ordinarily,  it'd  be  platitudinous,  inflated  common 
place.    Now,  it  is  prophetic. 

JIM  —  Moralize,  you  monk — 

HAL  —  Thanks.    Now,  the  real  question — 

JIM  —  Ah  yes,  the  real — 

HAL  —  Jim!    Is  it  your  turn  to  talk,  or  mine  ? 

JIM —  Sorry.     Goon. 

HAL  —  Are  we  or  aren't  we — friends  ? 

JIM  —  We  are — go  on. 

HAL  —  To  you,  the  world — outside  of  her  and  me — 

JIM  —  Is  an  abomination!    Go  on,  will  you? 

Hal  quickly  finishes  his  wine.     Jim  is  leisurely. 

HAL  —  The  question  isn't  will  you  make  and  keep  Stella 
happy.    But  will  she  make  and  keep  you — 

JIM  —  What's  that  ? 

HAL  —  Don't  flare  up  again — do  you  want  me  to  stop  ? 

JIM  —  Go  on. 

HAL  —  You  think  me  a  sacrilegious  meddler — 

JIM  —  I  don^t — 

HAL  —  You  do — and  if  you  don't,  you  ought  to.  Well — 
it's  just  this  sacred  myopia — sacred  regard — I 
won't  say  you  have  for  Stella  so  much  as  men 
generally  have  for  the  woman  of  their  eye — it's 
this  I'm  after — that  I  want  to  denude — that  I 
want  you  to  see  as  I  do — because  it's  the  most  in 
sidious  sentimentality,  most  vicarious  poison 
in  the  whole  human  system.  It's  deadly. 

[108] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


JIM —  I  won't  deny  it.     I  wouldn't  know  how.     But 
Stella- 

HAL  —  I'm  not  saying  you  have  it  for  her — 

JIM —  I  have — and  you  know  it!     Don't  beat  about — 

particularize! 
HAL  —  Good!    You're  a  man!     Shake! 

Hal's  hand  appears. 

JIM  —  You  must  have  had  doubts  hitherto — 
HAL  —  Twaddle!     Come!     It's   not  the  lover  or  friend 

I'm  after. 

Jim's  hand  appears.     The  hands  clasp,  and 

disappear. 

HAL  —  Well,  Mister  Man — 

JIM  —  Thanks — I  was  sick  of  the  lad — 

HAL  —  Just  an  affectionate  diminutive  not  usual  with  us 
Americans — 

JIM  —  Shut  up  and  go  on! 

HAL  —  Well — you  and  I  and  the  rest  of  us  have  got  to 
get  over  the  jejune  phase  of  the  love  mania,  and 
the  sooner  the  better  for  biology!  Now  that  we're 
particularizing — can  you  recall  the  nursery  rhyme 
which — might  be  applied — 

JIM —  To  Stella?  Ye  gods,  haven't  I  said  it  to  her, 
ad  nauseam  ?  Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star — 

HAL  —  How  I  wonder  what  you  are — 

JIM  —  Up  above  the  world  so  high — 

HAL  —  Like  a  diamond  in  the — 

JIM  —  Enough — cut  it — it's  absurd! 

HAL  —  Not  at  all.  It's  profoundly,  fundamentally  seri 
ous,  tragic — whether  a  Roman  say  it — Mica,  mica, 
parva  Stella — or — 

[109] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


JIM  —  Cut  the  Latin — I've  made  her  suffer  that,  too! 

HAL  —  She  doesn't  suffer — on  the  contrary — 

JIM —  Never  mind — go  on! 

HAL  —  You  understand,  it's  this  self-prostration  I'm 
after?  It's  not  Stella.  I've  only  the  highest 
regard — 

JIM —  Hypocrite!  There  you  go  yourself!  One'd  never 
suspect  your  regard  from  your  visits.  You 
haven't  been  to  see  her  alone — without  me — well, 
since  you  introduced  me  there — bless  you! 

HAL  —  That's  another  question — quite  foreign.  You 
know  I  never  go  anywhere — work  nights — prefer 
my  studies — my  candle.  And  besides,  she's  been 
your  preserve,  as  they  say,  from  that  moment 
to  this! 

JIM  —  What  do  you  mean  now? 

HAL  —  I  don't  have  to  explain .  Now,  love — love  isn't 
self-annihilation — nor  is  it  altruism— 

JIM  —  You  must  have  loved  a  bit  in  your  day  to  talk  so 
fluently  now — 

HAL  —  This  isn't  my  day,  it's  yours — 

JIM  —  (sighs) — To-morrow — 

HAL  —  And  I'd  rather  talk  fluently  than  suffer — 

JIM —  Cynic!     So  would  I.     Which  one  taught  you  how ? 

HAL  —  We'll  reserve  that  roast  for  another  meal — 

JIM  —  That  sounds  bitter — 

HAL  —  Not  at  all — it's  matter  of  fact— 

JIM  —  Who  was  she  ? 

HAL  —  Are  we  discussing  me  or  you  ? 

JIM —  Me — but — 

HAL  —  Then  be  quiet.     Besides,  to-morrow? — 

JIM —  Is  half  an  hour  off — 

[no] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  As  to  the  day — but  the  event  ? 

JIM  —  Twenty  and  a  half  long,  long  hours — 

HAL  —  A  lightning  calculator  should  see  hours  equal — 

JIM  —  He  doesn't — so  hurry — 

HAL  —  Half  an  hour  longer  ? 

JIM  —  Yes,  yes! 

HAL  —  Where  was  I  ? 

JIM  —  Altruism. 

HAL  —  Love  isn't  altruism — far  from  it.  It'd  be  mighty 
poor  stuff  if  it  were — Nature' d  stop  it  in  a  jiffy. 
The  best  of  love — its  real  innerds — is  strictly  self 
ish. 

JIM—  Hal! 

HAL  —  Isn't  it  ? 

JIM —  Decidedly  no! 

HAL  —  If  it  isn't,  you're  not  in  love.     Not  with  Stella, 
but  with  theories! 

JIM —  You  are! 

HAL  —  You  are.     We're  like  two  dogs  at  a  bone — 

JIM  —  Sorry — go  on. 

HAL  —  Bring  it  down  from  the  sky — out  of  the  rarefied 
regions — diamonds  don't  grow  up  there.  Poetry's 
as  misleading  as  love — as  sorely  impregnated  with 
sentiment,  and  as  bewildering.  Just  why  do  you 
want  to  make  and  keep  her  happy? 

JIM  -     Well- 

HAL  —  For  yourself,  eh  ? 

JIM —  No — absolutely — I — 

HAL  —  A  man  who  stutters,  lies! 

JIM —  Hal! 

HAL  —  Jim  ? 
Pause. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  Shall  we  go  home  ? 
JIM  —  No — go  on. 

Hal  laughs  gently. 
HAL  —  You  admit  the  charge  ? 
JIM  —  Don't  rub  it  in. 
HAL  —  Don't  look  so  sour! 
JIM  —  For  God's  sake,  go  on. 
HAL  —  Not  till  you  answer — and  grin. 
JIM  —  I  admit  it— 
HAL  —  But  you  haven't  grinned  ? 
JIM —  Damn  you — there. 

Jim  grimaces.     Hal  laughs  freely. 
JIM  —  Cut  it. 
HAL  —  Since  the   question   isn't  that  you   make   Stella 

happy,  but  that  she  make  you  happy — 
JIM--  Oh! 

HAL  -  -  You  admit  the  former  depends  on  the  latter? 
JIM —  I  suppose  so. 
HAL  -  -  That  you  can't  make  her  happy  unless  you're 

happy  yourself? 
JIM —  No. 

HAL  —  That  it  takes  her  to  make  you  happy? 
JIM  —  Yes,  yes,  but — 
HAL  —  And  to  keep  her  happy — as  you  add — she  has  to 

keep  you  happy — 
JIM —  Hal!     How  dare  you  presume — 

He  makes  an  effort  to  rise. 
HAL  —  Don't  be  heroic — sit  down. 

Jim  subsides. 
HAL— Well? 

Jim  doesn't  answer. 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  You've  thought  about  it,  haven't  you?    Not  a 
mere  brutal  premise  on  my  part,  is  it? 

Jim  shakes  his  head. 
HAL  —  And  you've  not  only  wondered  if  she  can  keep  you 

happy — but  if  she  will — of  her  own  volition. 
JIM  —  (laboriously) — Why  do  you  tell  me  this  to-night  ? 
HAL  —  I'm  not  telling  it — I'm  dragging  it  out  of  you — 

getting  you  to  tell  it — not  to  me,  to  yourself! 

Jim  nods. 
HAL  —  So  you  don't  go  to  church  on  your  knees,  and  deaf, 

dumb  and  blind.     I'm  brutal  because  I  love  you, 

lad — know  you — 
JIM  —  Don't  call  me,  lad. 
HAL  —  I'm  brutal  to   Stella  only  by  implication,   and 

because — 

JIM  —  You  don't  love  her,  know  her — 
HAL  —  Because  I  do! 
JIM —  What's  that! 
HAL  —  In  you,  man,  in  you! 
JIM—  Oh! 

HAL  —  I  can  only  speak  of  her  side — generally — 
JIM  —  From  your  experience  with  those  who  taught  you 

to  talk? 

HAL  —  Don't  be  nasty.     Resentment's  out  of  place  here. 
JIM  —  Sorry — go  on. 

HAL  —  And  don't  be  sorry.     It  puts  me  on  a  pedestal. 
JIM —  Go  on. 
HAL  —  From   my   experience — and    my   observation   of 

others — 

JIM  —  Rotten  expression! 
HAL  —  Yes — but  we're  not  botanizing — 
JIM  —  Biologizing! 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  From  what  I've  felt  and  seen — is  that  better? — 

JIM —  Much! 

HAL  —  Of  the  regard  men  have  for  women — 

JIM  —  A  rebuttal  ? 

HAL  —  Yes. 

JIM —  Good  Lord!    That   point's  no  longer  in  order. 
I've  conceded  it. 

HAL  —  Granted.  But  losing  that  illusion — that  ballast — 
we  fall  to  earth  with  a  bump  and  rebound  back 
to  the  sky  — 

JIM —  Good  Lord! 

HAL  —  Where  we  hear  woman's  version  of  the  twinkle 
ditty  sprawling  to  our  stardom. 

JIM —  You  don't  know  Stella. 

HAL  —  I  do. 

JIM  —  See  here,  Hal!    How  well  do  you  know  her?    This 
is  the  second  time — 

HAL  —  Never  mind — 

JIM  —  Don't  say  that!    I'm  not  a  baby! 

HAL  —  You  are  when  you  prattle — 

JIM  —  I'm  not  prattling.     You  knew  her  before  I  did, 
long  before — 

HAL  —  Not  long  before — 

JIM —  Before 

HAL  —  (evasively) — Well  ? 

JIM  —  See  here — how  well  did  you  know  her  ?  (Reflec 
tively)  Funny,  I've  never  asked  you  that?  Defi 
nitely?  Nor  her  either!  Hal! 

HAL  —  (lightly) — Too  blind — too  dumb — trustful — not 
caring  a  fig  about  history  after  you  won  her — 
very  early,  wasn't  it  ? 

JIM  —  This  isn't  a  mocking  matter — 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  It  is — 

JIM  —  Glad  to  hear  it.     It's  a  relief,  but — 

HAL  —  And  being  trustful  of  me  and  the  rest  as  soon  as 

you  were  sure  of  her — 
JIM  —  Will  you  stop  ? 
HAL  —  Not  till  I've  answered  your:    Funny,  I've  never 

asked  you  that. 

JIM —  Well,  you've  answered  it.     Sorry — 
HAL  —  Glad,  you  mean — 
JIM —  Glad. 
Pause. 

HAL  —  You  see  how  much  you  want  her  for  yourself? 
JIM  —  We've  been  through  that. 
HAL  —  And  how  much  your  so-called  wanting  yourself  for 

her  is  the  same  thing  in  the  same  glass  ? 
JIM  —  Get  back  to  the  sky — this  is  uncomfortable — 
HAL  —  That's  why  folk  worship.     It's  easier. 
JIM  —  I'm  through  with  worship. 
HAL  —  Even  the  semblance  of  it  ? 
JIM  —  With  the  whole  of  it! 
HAL  —  Good  for  you!    You've  graduated — 
JIM —  From  ladism,  eh? 
HAL  —  No,  from  what  folk  call,  manhood! 
JIM  —  Thank  God! 
HAL  —  Fill  them  up  again! 
JIM —  Let's! 

Repetition  of  pantomime  of  bottle  and  glasses. 
JIM  —  To  manhood,  deceased — 
HAL  —  No,  Jim — to  you — reborn. 
JIM —  And  you,  Hal. 
HAL  —  To  jis  then — 
JIM —  Individually — 

[us] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  And  together. 

They  laugh  a  little,  drink,  laugh  a  little. 
JIM —  Now? 
HAL —  We're  back  in  the  sky — looking  down  on  — adored 

by — the  women  who  are  foolish. 
JIM  —  But  not  Stella  ? 
HAL  —  Not  Stella. 
JIM—  Well? 

HAL  —  A  final  gulp  first  to  the  ladies  in  question — 
JIM  —  By  all  means — 
HAL  —  It's  a  long  journey  back — 
JIM  —  With  many  circumlocutions! 
HAL  —  To  the  ladies! 
JIM —  The  ladies! 

They  clink  and  finish  their  glasses.    Hal  looks  ab 
stracted. 
JIM—  Well? 

HAL  —  Eh  ? 

JIM  —  What  are  you  waiting  for  ? 

Hal  loses  more  and  more  of  his  nonchalance  as  he 
proceeds. 

HAL  —  How  I  wonder  what  you  are! 
JIM  —  Are  you  drunk  ? 
HAL  —  No — reminiscing. 
JIM  —  Oh,  the  nursery — 
HAL  —  Invoking  it  as  a  text — 
JIM  —  I  thought  we  were  through  with  that  ? 
HAL  —  With  the  man's  version — 
JIM  —  And  the  woman's  ? — 

HAL  —  The  same,  but  the  interpretation's  different — 
JIM —  Different? 

[116] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  Quite  a  little — decidedly — vastly — 
JIM  —  Stop  fishing  for  words! 
HAL  —  Eh  ? 

JIM —  You  seem  in  difficulty — for  the  first  time — be 
fuddled — just  as  much  as  we — 
HAL  —  Who  ? 
JIM  —  Lovers. 
HAL  —  How? 
JIM  —  When  women  enter! 

Hal  makes  an  obvious  effort  at  self-recovery. 
HAL  —  I'm  considering  them — want  to  spare  them,  be  nice 

to  them,  gallant — 
JIM  —  Sentimentalist  yourself! 
HAL  —  No,  I'm  poising  my  lance  for  the  attack.  These 

are  mortal  lists,  and  he  who  wins — man  or  woman 

— is  the  one  with  the  intricate  equipment — 
JIM  —  Go  to,  Sir  Walter! 
HAL  —  Go  to,  yourself. 
JIM—  Well? 
HAL  —  (nervously) — Hadn't  we  better  have  some  more 

wine  ? 

JIM  —  Your  brain's  addled  already! 
HAL  —  Woman  champion! 

Jim  bows  ironically. 

HAL  —  Now,  don't  interrupt.    I  have  to  feel  my  way  here. 
JIM  —  Why  now  and  not  before  ? 
HAL  —  I  have  to  be  impersonal — prate  in  the  plural — 
JIM  —  Don't  mind  me — use  the  singular — 
HAL  —  Want  to  probe  my  skeletons  ? 
JIM  —  Whose  else  can  you  prate  about  ? — 
HAL  —  (suddenly) — You  wont  mind  the  revelation  ? 
JIM —  Not  at  all. 

[H7] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  (evasive  again) — You're  safe  against  it  ? 

JIM  —  Why  not  ? 

HAL  —  Glad  to  hear  it.     I'm  not. 

JIM  —  Where  are  you  driving  now? 

HAL  —  That  remains  to  be  seen. 

JIM  —  Confound  your  cryptomania. 

HAL  —  Double-confound  it. 

JIM—  Well? 

They  study  each  other  for  a  moment.    Hal  breaks 
the  suspense. 

HAL  —  Well — it's  like  this!    Begins  like  a  testament,  eh? 

JIM —  Begin,  begin — 

HAL  —  With  the  world  listening  ? — 

JIM  —  Who  cares  about  a  waiter  ? — 

HAL  —  Oh,  is  he  there  ? — 

JIM  —  In  the  next  room — he  can't  hear.    But  Hal — can 

this  be  you  ?    Are  you  afraid  of  opinion  ? 
HAL  —  Only  lest  somebody  think  I'm  spreading  a  treatise 

far  more  imposing  than  the  facts  deserve. 
JIM  —  Lord,  have  mercy — 
HAL  —  There's  nothing  so  stupid  to  listen  to  in  the  whole 

curriculum  of  gossip  as  a  man's  sex  reactions. 
JIM —  What  circumnavigation!    Will  you  ever  come  to 
port  ?   I  can't  find  you  any  more.    Where  are  you  ? 
HAL  —  Here. 

JIM  —  Who'd  know  it  ?    Considering  it's  you — our  para 
gon  among  ascetics — without  flaw  hitherto  ?  Have 
you  of  all  men — a  conscience  ? 
HAL  —  An  artistic  one.     I  despise  banality. 
JIM  —  Art  is  its  glorification ! 
HAL  —  Don't  be  epigrammatic. 

FiiSl 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


JIM  —  Then  save  me  from  it!     Will  you  ever  begin? 

Hal  is  nonplussed.     Then  quickly — 
HAL  — Jim! 

JIM  —  What's  the  matter? 
HAL  —  I — can't — 
JIM  —  Can't  what  ? 

HAL  —  Don't  look  at  me — I  simply  can't — go  on  with  this! 
JIM  —  What  can't  you  go  on  with  ? 
HAL  —  This — generalizing.     It's  stifling — 
JIM —  Stifling? — 

HAL  —  I've  got  to  come  to — the  particular — 
JIM —  Woman? 
HAL  —  Yes. 

JIM  —  Why  shouldn't  you  ? — does  it — hurt  ? 
HAL  —  Damnably. 
JIM  —  Hold  it  back — 
HAL  —  Too  late — I  can't — 
JIM  —  Wait — I'll  call  for  more  wine — 
HAL  —  I  don't  want  wine. 
JIM —  Then  out  with  it — you  can  trust  me — get  rid  of 

it — we've  no  secrets  from  each  other — 
HAL  —  That's  just  the  trouble — we  have! 
JIM —  Yes? 

No  answer. 
JIM—  Hal! 

No  answer. 
JIM  —  Look  at  me — who  is  it  ? 

No  answer. 

JIM  —  Christ — it  isn't — 
HAL  —  It — is. 
JIM  —  God  help  us — 

[119] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


Jim  clutches  out  and  collapses  onto  the  table.     One 
can  barely  see  his  head. 
HAL  —  Not  us — Jim  lad — you . 
JIM —  (faintly) — Me? 

HAL YOU. 

Jim  slowly  raises  his  head.  His  face  is  wild,  hag 
gard.  Hal's  is  ashen — but  he  again  seems  master  of  him 
self. 

HAL  —  It  doesn't  exist — now. 
JIM  —  It's  past  ? — 
HAL  —  Past. 

Jim  straightens  himself  with  the  aid  of  the  table. 
JIM  —  That  isn't  so  terrible — if  it's  over — is  it  over  ? — 

is  it — 

HAL  —  Utterly — 
JIM  —  For  good  ? 
HAL  —  Yes. 
JIM —  Then  what's  so  terrible? — except  that  I  didn't 

know   before? — but   that's   not   so   terrible — (he 

laughs  huskily) — is  it? — that  you  never  told  me? 

But— Stella  ?- 
HAL  —  That's  it. 
JIM —  What? 
HAL  —  Can't  you  see  ? 
JIM  —  My  head's  going  round — 
HAL  —  Give  it  a  rest — and  I'll  tell  you.    I  can't — quite — 

with  you  looking  at  me — 
JIM  —  You  haven't  gone  back  on  me,  too? 
HAL  —  No — nor  she — don't  say  too. 
JIM  —  Is  there  anything — to  be  ashamed  of?    Hal! 
HAL  —  Nothing. 
JIM  —  What  then  ? 

[120] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  (tenderly) — It's  not  hers  or  mine  now — it's  just 

yours — entirely . 

JIM —  Mine — now — entirely?    What  is? 
HAL  —  The  shock. 

A  long  pause.    Jim  seems  gradually  to  shrink  into 
himself .    His  head  seeks  his  arm  and  the  table. 
HAL  —  That's  right,  try  to  rest,  and  I'll  tell  you.     And 

remember,  I'm  with  you — I'll  help — 
JIM  —  (faintly) — You  will  ? 
HAL  —  Yes.     You're  not — alone. 

Jims  shoulders  move  convulsively.     But  one  cannot 
hear  him  sob.     His  hand  gropes  its  way  across  to  Hal's. 
Hal's  other  hand  reaches  out  and  strokes  Jims  head.     The 
convulsions  cease. 
HAL  —  Shall  I  tell  you  ? 
JIM —  Yes. 
HAL  —  I  want  to  help  you — not  alone  because  I  want  to — 

but  because  I've  got  to. 
JIM  —  What  good — will  that  do  ? 
HAL  —  Lots. 

Pause. 
JIM  —  For  God's  sake — don't  be  silent — say  something! 

Hal  strokes  him  further. 
HAL  —  Is  that  better? 

JIM  —  It  helps  me  to  think — my  head's  whirling — that's 
better — never  mind  now — let's  be  men. 

Hal  smiles  sadly  and  stops  stroking  Jim. 
HAL  —  May  I  hold— 
JIM —  Yes — a  little  longer — you'll  have  to — I  can't  let 

go  yet. 

HAL  —  We're  together  in  this  ? 
JIM  —  Individually — and — 

[121] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  Good — you  remember  the  toast! 

JIM  —  You're  a  brick — 

HAL  —  Kind  of  hard,  eh? — 

JIM —  And  soft. 

HAL  —  Bless  you. 
Pause. 

JIM  —  Go  on  now.     I  can  stand  it. 

HAL  —  Sure  ? 

JIM —  Yes. 

HAL  —  (quietly) — Not  being  a  Christian — I'm  not  blaming 
anybody.  Remember  that,  will  you,  all  through? 

JIM —  Yes. 

HAL  —  Stella — never  belonged  to  me. 

JIM —  No? 

HAL  —  (growing  more  and  more  pensive  as  he  proceeds — 
Jim  less  and  less  attentive) — In  the  superficial 
acceptance  of  such  phrases,  one  could  say,  she 
loved  and  belonged  to  me — but  in  reality,  she 
never  did.  She  belonged  to  herself,  loved  herself. 
That  isn't  peculiar.  What  I  mean  is — she  loved 
what  she  thought  me  to  be — craved  that — and  not 
finding  me  to  be  what  she  thought — loved  what 
she  insisted  I  must  be — demanded  it  of  me. 
I  tried,  of  course,  but  couldn't  keep  it  up.  I'm 
not  superhuman.  To  be  what  she  wanted,  I  had 
to  be  more  than  myself — had  to  lie.  Even  lies 
have  their  limit.  So  I  burst — dropped  in  her 
regard  from  what  she  thought  and  demanded  down 
to  what  she  could,  in  justice  to  either  of  us,  no 
longer  think  or  demand.  I  was  thrown  aside  like 
a  used  glove. 

JIM  —  Dear  old  Hal.    She  didn't  understand  you. 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  Love  in  such  a  case  has  nothing  to  do  with  under 
standing  the  other  fellow.  It  has  solely  to  do  with 
self-understanding — with  self-imagining  and  self- 
adventure  the  means — towards  self-expression,  the 
ultima  Thule.  One  sets  forth  on  such  a  quest  ex 
pecting  to  find  not  only  what  one  sets  forth  to  see, 
but  anticipating  thrilling  encounters  not  bargained 
for.  One  can't  return  from  such  a  quest.  One 
must  continue  it  to  the  death,  or  try  a  new  one. 

JIM  —  (dazed) — Is  that  where  I  ? — 

HAL  —  We'll  come  to  you  later.  At  the  start,  I  was  as 
much  the  adventurer  as  she.  I  loved  what  I 
thought  her. 

JIM —  Worship? 

HAL  —  Self-prostration  to  star-exaltation — worship  and 
deception — center  and  circumference. 

JIM  —  Even  you  ? 

HAL  —  You  don't  recover  from  a  disease  till  you've  had  it  ? 

JIM  —  No. 

HAL  —  In  my  case,  however,  when  I  didn't  find  her  what 
I  asked  her  to  be — 

JIM  —  Dear  girl — 

HAL  —  I  somehow  compromised — or  thought  I  did — tried 
to — between  that  and  what  she  actually  was. 
I  came  as  far  around  to  her  as  it's  possible  for  one 
being  to  come  to  another  after  an  infection  of 
worship.  But  even  a  recovery  from  such  an  in 
fection  leaves  one  exhausted,  crippled.  In  her 
case,  there  could  be  no  compromise,  because  her 
worship  of  me — her  prostration — was  directed — 
if  anything  so  nebulous  can  be  directed — to  her 
self.  She  didn't  crave  the  ideal  man  so  much  as 

[123] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


she  did  some  hypothetical  creature  which  should 
supersede  her,  as  suppliant,  to  herself,  as  star,  so 
that  she  might  be  the  latter,  solely,  freely,  un- 
trammeled.  This  required  a  supernatural  agency 
on  the  part  of  the  man  of  her  choice.  Somehow,  I 
was  able  to  be,  I  was  elected — that  choice — but  try 
as  I  would,  I  couldn't  fill  out  her  portrait  of  the 
priest. 

JIM. —  How  quietly  you  tell  it! 

HAL  —  I  can  now — I  couldn't  have  then.  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  elements  then — an  atom  driven,  whirled, 
knocked  down,  broken,  pieced  together,  lifted 
again — with  the  whole  round  over  for  another  series 
of  concussions  experience  could  never  brace  me 
against.  She  was  always  the  one  clear  image  out 
side  the  tornado — always  slightly  reproachful — 
but  otherwise  somewhere  aloof  from  it  all — a  thing 
on  a  stone — as  still  as  the  stone — a  part  of  it — 
seemingly  the  stone  herself — but  for  that  almost 
imperceptible  frown.  At  the  last,  she  was  a  cool 
god  who  has  no  further  concern  with  a  disturbance 
after  the  act  of  pushing  it  away,  like  a  meteor, 
with  his  finger-tip.  Even  his  frown  vanishes. 

JIM  —  (in  awe) — Is — that — Stella  ? 

HAL  —  (with  oblivious  rapture) — One  had  to  admire  such  a 
mechanism  even  when  one  suffered  most — the 
moment  of  the  tiny  impact — the  moment  before 
the  crash  of  destruction.  However,  that's  over. 
I  haven't  suffered  since. 

JIM —  Quiet,  you  mean? 

HAL  —  Quiet's  a  pretty  good  name  for  it. 

JIM  —  So  am  I. 

[124] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  What  do  you  mean  ? 

JIM —  I  don't  know.     It's  queer.     Go  on. 

HAL  —  Have  you  been  listening  ? 

JIM  —  As  closely  as  I  could. 

HAL  —  I  see. 

JIM —  Don't  mind  me. 

Jim  withdraws  his  hand;  Hal  doesn't  prevent  him. 

HAL  —  (as  before) — It  was  an  everlasting  round  of  give, 
give,  on  my  part.  And  each  thing  given,  soon 
tossed  away  with  no  more  effort  than  a  gesture, 
always  beautiful  to  see.  And  always  followed  by 
that  imperceptible  sign  of  reproach — the  great 
goad — the  quick  lightning — its  tip,  the  obliterating 
bolt.  The  give,  give — less  and  less  a  part  of  me, 
more  and  more  an  act  inspired  by  what  she  held 
me  up  to,  drove  me  on  with,  struck  me  down. 
And  so,  with  my  degrees  of  sheer  exhaustion 
coming  more  and  more  frequently  and  uncon 
trollably — I  was  soon  empty — after  only  a  few 
weeks  of  such  a  pace — empty  of  what  she  held  me 
up  to.  I  retreated  to  my  real  self — as  a  reinforce 
ment — no,  not  even  to  that,  for  my  real  self  had 
fallen  deformed,  hunchbacked,  spineless.  It  was 
no  longer  the  original  I'd  brought  her — no  longer 
a  force  to  depend  on.  I  needed  an  army,  not  a 
cripple.  And  even  had  it  been  my  old  self — an 
army  if  ever  there  was  one! — strong,  glad,  moun 
tain-climbing  defence-destroyer  that  it  was! — she 
had  received  its  service.  Repetition  would  have 
revolted  her. 

JIM —  Stella! 

HAL  —  These  were  always  the  moments  when  she  was 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


truly  oblivious,  most  pitiless.  When  the  imper 
ceptible  flashed  to  the  perceptible.  A  little  giving 
on  her  part — the  shadow  of  a  compromise — 

JIM  —  She  never  gave  ? — 

HAL  —  No.  A  little  giving  in  the  form  of  a  foolish  caress — 
not  necessarily  felt  by  her — would  have  been  the 
torch  to  revive  me  enough  to  make  still  one  more 
effort  to  pursue  her  star-chase  for  her.  But  I 
wasn't  an  atom  worth  helping — not  in  her  cosmos. 
From  her  view — up  from  the  deeps  of  her — con 
sciously  or  sub-consciously — she  was  right. 

JIM. —  Can  you  say  that? 

HAL  —  Yes,  dispassionately. 

JIM —  What — am  I — to  say? 

HAL  —  (unheeding) — I  confess — I  wasn't  so  pleasantly 
philosophical  at  the  time.  It  wasn't  flattering  to 
my  ego.  To  learn  that  I  wasn't  loved  for  myself — 
for  what  I  had  to  give — for  not  even  a  particle  of 
either — that  was  merely  humiliating.  But  when  I 
couldn't  supply  what  she  wanted — a  self  she  de 
manded  I  be  and  give — self  of  her  self — it  was 
annihilating.  It  left  me  dazed,  dumb,  stupid, 
useless.  Old  Doctor  Travel,  himself,  couldn't 
cure  me.  Cured  me  of  the  suffering,  yes — but  not 
of  the  stupor.  Even  now-a-days,  fully  two  years 
later — when  I  sit  up  there  nights  in  my  tower — 
the  cell  only  you  are  permitted  to  visit — I  begin 
wondering — I  go  over  it  all  again — do  it  unawares 
— it  catches  me  like  a  shadow — comes  in  like  a 
ghost  and  takes  me — while  I'm  reading  a  book — 
pondering  another  man's  thought- — it  comes  be 
tween  me  and  him — as  though  corporeal  things 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


didn't  exist — only  essences  of  things  once  corporeal 
— to  which  I'm  recalled.     The  stupor  deepens. 
The  very  room  is  enveloped  by  it — is  gone.    And 
I  fancy  that  not  even  I — am  sentient. 
Hal's  face  has  undergone  the  change  he  describes, 

JIM—  Hal! 

HAL  —  And  I  wonder — if  I  can —  whether  my  conclusions 
are  a  result  of  so  much  cogitation — airy  theoriz 
ing — or  an  outcome  of  the  stupor  out  of  which 
nothing  concrete  can  ever  come  again — beyond 
further  stupor  and  further  speculation. 
Jim  sits  up.  His  expression  is  one  of  terror. 

JIM-     Hal— Hal! 
Hal  smiles. 

HAL  —  Well ?     I'm  not  afraid.     I  can  go  on  with  it. 

JIM  —  You're  not — you  can — but  what  of  me  ? 

HAL  —  (sobering  to  the  former  situation) — You  ?     Jim  ?  Oh 
yes — 

JIM  —  You  did — what  I'm  still  doing — 

HAL  —  Yes,  lad. 

JIM  —  Went  through  it — it's  over  with  you — but  with 
me? — 

HAL  —  With  you — Jim — it's — 
He  falters. 
Jim  hides  his  face  in  his  hands. 

JIM  —  Why  did  you — tell  me — to-night  ? 

HAL  —  Are  you  sorry  ? 

JIM  —  (with  a  supreme  effort) — No. 

HAL  —  Resentful  ? 

JIM —  No. 

HAL  —  What  then  ? 

JIM  —  I  feel — so  frightfully — alone — lost. 

[127] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  I'm  here. 

JIM —  But  you — can't  take  her  place.     Stella!    Stella! 
He  once  more  seeks  refuge  in  his  arms. 

HAL  —  (gently) — Nobody  can  take  her  place.     Not  even 
you. 

JIM —  It's  all  so — desperate.  To-morrow's — gone — and 
the  next  day — all  days!  Why — did  you — tell  me? 

HAL  —  To  save  you,  as  it's  called,  and  to — 

JIM —  You   think   this    saves    me?     It    may   save    me 
against — but  what  does  it  save  me  for — (he  sits 
up) — What  for,  eh  ? 
His  tone  is  menacing. 

HAL  —  Yourself. 

JIM —  What  am  I  to  do  with  that? — what  good  is  it 
now? — it's  dead — it  couldn't  be  any  use  to 
her — and  being  no  use  to  her,  what  do  I  care 
about  it  ? — it's  nothing  to  me — it's  worth  throwing 
away,  that's  all — before  it  was  ever  used — like 
yours! 

HAL  —  You  know  it  was  used.     Richly,  gloriously. 

JIM —  But  not  like  yours — it  never  got  so  far.  There 
were  reproaches — there  still  are — but  not  like 
yours.  You  got  silent  ones — the  kind  a  god  would 
get — or  even  a  man — I  get  actual  ones — chiding — 
the  kind  a  child  would.  I  was  used  all  right — 
richly  and  the  rest — so  I  thought  before  you  began. 
I've  been  to  mountain  peaks  and  sky  places,  but 
not  like  yours.  She's  never  goaded  me  higher. 
I'm  not  worth  goading  higher.  I'm  a — 

HAL  —  That  was  on  the  way,  Jim.  And  you're  not  a 
child — neither  was  I — you  were  younger — that's 

[128] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


all.  You  needed  more  suffering  first — apprentice 
ship — further  maturing — and  then! — 

JIM  —  Stella  compromised!     I'm  her  compromise! 

HAL  —  Nothing  of  the  sort.  You're  simply  the  new  quest 
leading  to  the  same  old  jungle.  I've  been  seeing 
it  right  along — since  I  got  back — in  you  yourself. 
Not  at  first — not  for  some  time — but  in  our  last 
few  meetings — your  growing  uncertainty — your 
hidden  cancer  breaking  out  in  moroseness — that 
haunted  look  you  never  had  before — sprite  that 
you  were!  I  could  see  by  its  greater  frequency 
just  what  she  was  thinking  and  doing — her  motive 
and  method — how  high  her  thought  of  you  flew — 
how  much  quicker  and  sharper  the  goad. 
Jim  has  sunk  to  a  stupor. 

I  could  see  the  whole  plot  more  and  more  clearly — 
saw  it  as  I  sat  here — saw  it  beyond  further  need 
of  seeing.  Not  so  many  weeks  ago — the  first 
gloom  I  encountered — the  first  sign  of  that  look — 
that  beginning  of  a  paralysis  as  sure  of  its  victim 
as  death — proved  it  to  me — more  clearly  than  if 
she  had  proclaimed  it  herself:  This  is  he — this 
the  one — this  henceforth  mine !  Are  you  listening  ? 

JIM  —  Trying  to. 

HAL  —  Do  you  need  a  final  proof? 

JIM  —  Yes — for  God's  sake — 

HAL  —  The  so-called  courtship  was  a  long  one  ? — 

JIM  —  I  don't  have  to  tell  you  that — 

HAL  —  But  the  engagement  itself — the  announcement- 
sudden  ? 

JIM  —  You  know  that  too — 

HAL  —  And  the  wedding  cards — close  after — still  more  so  ? 

[129] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


JIM —  (reviving) — Yes!     Yes!     (with   frantic    joy) — Hal! 

Is  that  it  ? 
HAL  —  Yes.     You  were  ordained  at  last.     Your  novitiate 

over — your  priesthood  begun. 

JIM  —  (with  clutching  eagerness) — Was  that  how  it  hap 
pened— 
HAL  —  (warily) — With  me?     Yes.     But  much  earlier — 

almost  the  moment  we  met.     But  it  didn't  last 

long.     I  told  you  that.     We  never  got  to  your — 

to-morrow. 

JIM  —  (gloomy  again) — There  you  are. 
HAL  —  Where  ? 
JIM  —  (hopelessly  depressed) — Yours  had  a  beginning — at 

once — and  an  ending.     A  life  and  death — a  full 

eternity. 

HAL  —  You  envy  me  ? 
JIM —  Yes! 
HAL  —  Despite  being  able  to  see  you'd  have  gone  the  way 

I  did? 
JIM —  Even    so — even    more    so!     I    might    have    gone 

further — 
HAL  —  No,  Jim.     Don't  try  to  deceive  yourself  there. 

You  can't. 
JIM —  But  think  of  what  I've  lost!    Who  cares  about 

suffering? — what  of  that? — God  give  me  that — 

rather  than  this! 
HAL  —  It  can't  be — 
JIM —  Thanks  to  you!    Of  course  it  can't!     Not  with 

me — not  very  far!     But  did  you  have  to  stop  me? 

Why  did  you  bring  me  here?     What  devil  made 

you  pick  on  to-night  ? 
HAL  —  (tenderly) — Her  devil. 

[130] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


JIM —  (dangerously) — Could  you  do  such  a  thing? — do 

you  hate  her  now  ? — was  it  revenge  ? 
HAL  —  (bluntly) — Don't  invoke  the  villain.     Such  words 

aren't  in  my  line. 
JIM  —  They  are — in  your  smooth  way — you  may  have 

other  words  for  them — but  they're  the  same — the 

motive  behind  them  the  same!     Didn't  you  bring 

me  here? 
HAL  —  Yes. 

JIM  —  Didn't  you  get  me  to  drink? — 
HAL  —  That's  nothing  new — 
JIM  —  And  then  tell  me  all  this — in  a  slow,  sneaking 

way?     Didn't  you  have  trouble  telling  me?     You 

didn't  tell  me  at  once  ? 
HAL  —  Fire  away. 
JIM  —  You  were  hiding  it — hiding  something — you  might 

have  told  me  before — months  ago — before  you 

took  me  there — 
HAL  —  Yes. 

JIM  —  But  you  didn't  ? — 
HAL  —  No. 
JIM —  You — 

HAL Stop! 

Their  glances  meet.     Hal's  is  the  steadier. 
Jim  looks  away,  grief -stricken. 
JIM —  Sorry — Hal. 
HAL  —  Don't.     You  had  to  have  your  storm.     Had  to 

hit  somebody.     I  had  mine — only  worse. 
Jim  shakes  his  head. 
JIM  —  Storms  are  no  use.     Not  now. 
HAL  —  They  are.     (Jim  shakes  his  head  again.)     Now  we 
can  think. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


JIM  —  What  good's  thinking?     It  hasn't  done  you  any. 

HAL  —  Not  yet. 

JIM  —  When  will  it  ? 

HAL  —  (significantly) — Mighty  soon. 

JIM —  When? 

HAL  —  Thinking  eventually  leads  to  action — 

JIM —  When? 

HAL  —  When  men — do  it . 

Jim  looks  quickly  at  Hal.     And  as  quickly  away 
HAL  —  You  see  ? 
JIM —  Yes. 
HAL  —  Am  I  wrong  ? 
JIM —  No. 

Hal  thrusts  two  fingers  into  his  vest  pocket. 

Deliberately,  he  takes  out  a  phial  and  holds  it  at 
attention.     Jim  spies  it;  Hal  lowers  it. 
JIM —  Christ! — What's  that? 
HAL  —  Action. 
JIM —  What — now? 
HAL  —  Yes. 

With  a  groan,  Jim  gropes  for  the  table. 
HAL  —  You're  not — afraid  ? 
JIM  —  (brokenly) — No — but  I  hate — to  go — 
HAL  —  Alone  ? 
JIM —  Yes. 

HAL  —  You'll  not  go — alone. 
JIM —  Hal! 

His  hand  leaps  out.     Hal  catches  and  holds  it. 
Their  heads  are  close. 
JIM  —  Then  you  still — love  her  ? 
HAL  —  Yes. 
JIM  —  The — impossible  ? 

[132] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  Unattainable. 
JIM  —  And  without  it  ? 
HAL  —  There's  nothing. 
JIM  —  Like  me  ? 
HAL  —  Yes. 

Pause.     Jim  leans  back.     So  does  Hal. 
JIM  —  Tell  me. 
HAL  —  Yes  ? 
JIM —  Why'd  you  not  think  of  this — then?    Why  did 

you — 
HAL  —  Wait  ? 

Jim  nods. 

HAL  —  It  may  sound  heroic — fishy — 
JIM —  What? 

HAL  —  (with  intensive  monotone) — That  I  did  it  for  her. 
JIM  —  This  waiting  ? 
HAL  —  Yes. 

Jim  stares  at  him,  searches  his  face,  gently  with 
draws  his  hand. 
JIM  —  Then — it — is — 

Hal  smiles  and  shakes  his  head. 
JIM  —  Why'd  you  wait  so  long — take  me  there  first — and 

never  go  there  yourself — without  me — and  even 

that  only  a  little?    And  keep  silence  so  long — let 

us  two  go  so  far — wait  until  the  very  last  ? — 
HAL  —  I  said — for  her — 
JIM  —  Yes,  but  in  Christ's  name — why  ? 
HAL  —  That  she — so  to  speak — might  learn — have  time  to 

learn — that  in  losing  me,  dropping  me — she  was 

losing  herself. 

JIM  —  By  why  now — why  not  then  ? 
HAL  —  She  needed  proof  of  the   same   order — a   recru- 

[133] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


descence  of  the  search  and  discovery — that    her 

love  for  a  man  is  love  of  herself. 
JIM —  Me? 
HAL  —  Yes. 
JIM  —  Why  me  ? 
HAL  —  Because  you're  the  only  other  thing  I  loved — the 

only  other  I  could  regard  worthy  the  lesson  she 

needs  and  deserves. 
JIM  —  I  was  worthy  of  her  ? 
HAL  —  Yes. 

Jim  smiles. 
JIM —  Thanks. 
HAL  —  You  see  ? 
JIM  —  I  think  so — 

HAL  —  That  losing  us  both — she'll  learn — 
JIM  —  What  love  is  ? — 
HAL  —  Yes. 
JIM  —  But  suppose  she  doesn't — even  after  us — suppose 

it  isn't  in  her? 
HAL  —  I  think  it  is.    If  it  isn't — well,  the  gods  have  erred 

again. 

JIM  —  I'm  sure  it's  in  her.    But — 
HAL  —  Yes  ? 
JIM  —  The  experience — oh  how  I  envy  the  man! — will  go 


HAL  —  One  we  needn't  begrudge! 

JIM  —  No  ? 

HAL  —  Wont  we  be  a  part  of  their  world  ? 

JIM  —  The  stars  ? 

HAL  —  The  earth. 

JIM —  I  see. 

Hal  smiles.     So  does  Jim. 

[134] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


JIM  —  Let's  order  another  bottle — 

HAL  —  Pint  ? — 

JIM  —  No,  quart  this  time — 

HAL  —  We  wont  need  a  quart  ? — 

JIM  —  Only  a  sip!    Trust  you  for  that! 

They  laugh  quietly. 
HAL  — Well? 
JIM  —  This  one's  on  me ! 
HAL  —  Agreed. 
JIM  —  I  say  there — Waiter — Waiter!    Is  the  fellow  gone 

deaf? 
HAL  —  No — but  he  must  be  dumb.    Here  he  comes. 

The  waiter  reappears. 
JIM —  Another  pint,  please. 

The  waiter  turns  away. 
HAL  —  One  moment.    Will  you  bring  the  bill  with  you  ? 

The  waiter  bows  and  goes. 
HAL  —  He  hears  all  and  says  nothing! 
JIM  —  How  do  we  settle  ? 
HAL  —  That  item's  almost  our  last.    We'll  pay  him  right 

away — 

JIM  —  Have  you  any  other  debts? 
HAL  —  No — have  you  ? 
JIM  —  None. 
HAL  —  Solvent,  eh? 
JIM —  Trial  balance! 

They  laugh. 

JIM  —  And  our  feudal  estates  ? — bonds  ? — holdings  ? — 
HAL  —  Such  as  they  are  ? 

They  laugh. 

JIM  —  We  haven't  made  our  wills— 
HAL  —  True — but  let's  not  deprive  our  relatives,  in  the 

[135] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


order  of  legal  precedence,  of  the  fun  of  hunting 
drawers — 

JIM  —  Poor  Aunt  Emily — what  a  shock! 
HAL  —  Nobody  much  to  fight  for  my  books — except  rats. 
JIM —  Hal! 

HAL  —  What's  wrong  now  ? 

JIM  —  How  about  her?    To  think  I  could  forget — 
HAL  —  Don't  flare  up  again.    You  haven't  forgotten.    In 
an   experience   like   this — so   utterly  new — we're 
bound  to  bungle  a  bit — 

JIM  —  But  think  of  her,  think  of  her— to-morrow — wait 
ing!— 
HAL  —  We  wont  be  crude,  melodramatic — though  we  do 

cheat  society  of  a  piquant  denouement — and 

the  reporters — 
JIM —  Good  Christ — stop! 
HAL  —  Stop  yourself.  We've  got  to  consider  these  last 

behests — with  an  eye  to  logic,  not  hysteria. 
JIM  —  But  what  of  her? 
HAL  —  It'll  be  a  crash,  of  course.     But  the  more  so  the 

better.    The  sooner  her  self-love  will  shatter. 

And  the  sooner  that  happens — 
JIM —  Yes? 

HAL  —  The  sooner  her  new  era  will  have  its  chance. 
JIM  —  God  help  her  to  it  quickly. 
HAL  —  I'm  with  you. 

Pause. 
JIM —  But    how   to   forestall   to-morrow?     How'll    she 

understand  ? 

HAL  —  We'll  send  her  a  line.    She'll  see. 
JIM —  Telegram? — 
HAL  —  That'd  be  brutal. 

[136] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


JIM  —  How  then  ? 

HAL  —  We'll  indite  the  line  here  and  send   it   by   mes 
senger — 

JIM  —  Can  we  get  one  here  ? 
HAL  —  Yes .     Why  not  our  friend  ? 
JIM  —  Which  friend  ? 
HAL  —  The  waiter. 
JIM  —  Are  you  crazy  ? 
HAL  —  Why  not  ?    He's  probably  a  night  waiter — though 

I've  never  seen  him  before.    He  may  be  new  here — 

he's  so  slow  and  awkward — he  must  be.    If  he's  on 

duty  nights,  he's  off  during  the  day.    Why  not  ask 

him? 

JIM  —  If  you're  sure  he  can  be  trusted  ? — 
HAL  —  It's  a  child's  job.    And  we'll  tip  him  handsomely. 

He'd    go    to    Walla  Walla  for  that.      Withered 

though  he  is. 

JIM  —  Here  he  comes,  slower  than  ever. 
HAL  —  With  his. obsequious  air. 

The  waiter  reappears — with  the  new  bottle  and  the 
bill. 

HAL  —  Set  that  down  and  give  me  the  bill. 

The  waiter  obeys.    Hal  reaches  down  into  a  trouser 
pocket. 

JIM  —  Hold  on — this  last  bottle's  mine. 
HAL  —  That's  at  the  bottom.    One  peso. 
JIM  —  I'm  getting  off  easy  this  time. 
HAL  —  Your  treat  next  inning. 

They  laugh,  and  pay  the  waiter.    He  bows. 
HAL  —  Here's  something  for  your  trouble. 

The  waiter  takes  the  tip,  bows  again  and  turns. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  One  moment. 

The  waiter  stops. 
HAL  —  Are  you  a  night  waiter  here  ? 

He  bows. 
HAL  —  You're  off  during  the  day  ? 

He  bows. 
HAL  —  In  the  morning  ? 

He  bows. 
HAL  —  Evidently  you're  not  deaf?    That  wont  hurt  you 

any.    Dumb  though,  eh?    That's  it  then — well — 

you  wont  hurt   anybody   else   much,   will   you? 

(To  Jim) — Got  a  smile  out  of  him  that  time — 

didn't  I,  Waiter? 

He  bows. 

HAL  —  Listen.     We  want  you  to  do  a  very  particular 
errand  for  us.    Will  you? 

He  bows. 
HAL  —  That's  a  good  chap.    We  want  you  to  take  a  letter 

for  us — as  early  in  the  morning  as  you  can — say, 

not  later  than  noon — can  you  then  ? — 

He  bows. 
HAL  —  To  a  certain  party — not  very  far  from  here.  You're 

sure  you  can  do  it  ? 
He  bows  and  holds  out  his  hand. 
HAL  —  It  isn't  ready  yet.    You'll  have  to  come  back  for  it. 

In  ten  minutes  or  so — at  the  end  of  this  bottle — 

we'll  call  you. 

He  bows. 

HAL  —  We'll  look  after  you  snugly.    Does  that  intrigue 
you? 

He  bows. 
HAL  —  All  right,  sir.    Don't  forget. 

[138] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


The  waiter  bows  and  goes. 
HAL  —  Queer,  eh  ? 
JIM  —  Yes. 

HAL  —  A  most  appropriate  and  satisfying  agent. 
JIM  —  You're  queer  yourself. 
HAL  —  Why  not?    This  is  delicious.    One  might  as  well 

enjoy  it  while  one  has  it  ? 
JIM  —  To  the  dregs . 

Hal  laughs. 

HAL  —  We  may  not  reach  the  dregs  this  time. 
JIM  —  One  little  sip,  eh? 
HAL  —  One  little  one. 

They  laugh. 
JIM-   Well? 
HAL  —  You're  ready  ? 

Jim  nods. 

HAL  —  The  note  first . 
JIM  —  Oh  yes.     What  shall  we  say? 
HAL  —  One  line  enough  ? 
JIM —  Three  stark  monosyllables! 
HAL  —  Excellent! 
JIM  —  What  do  we  write  on  ? 
HAL  —  I've  thought  of  that. 
JIM  —  That  too?    Ye  gods! 

Hal  takes  an  envelope  from  his  coat  pocket  and  hands 
it  to  Jim. 
JIM  —  Addressed!     What  a  man! 

He  removes  the  paper. 
HAL  —  That  part's  yours. 
JIM  —  Thanks. 
HAL  —  Got  a  pen  ? 
JIM —  No. 

[139] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  You'll  never  do!    You're  criminally  careless! 

He  pulls  out  a  fountain-pen  and  holds  it  out  to  Jim. 
Jim  takes  it,  writes  a  little  awkwardly,  and  then  stops  and 
studies  the  paper. 
HAL  —  Have  you  signed  it  ? 

Jim  signs  quickly  and  passes  paper  and  pen  to  Hal. 
Hal  signs  with  a  careful  hand.    They  lean  over  the  paper. 
HAL  —  Looks  nice,  eh? 

JIM  —  Yours  is  firmer  than  mine — more  practiced — 
HAL  —  But  yours  is  more — what  shall  I  call  it  ? — vision 
ary? 
JIM —  Call  it — blind. 

They  lean  back.    Hal  puts  the  letter  into  the  envelope, 
which  he  seals  and  lays  on  the  table  with  a  banknote. 
JIM  —  A  ten-spot  ?   That'll  help  him  find  the  letter! 
HAL  —  And  now? 

JIM  —  Fill  them  up — no,  wait — let  me  do  it  this  time. 
HAL  —  Your  hand  steady  ? 
JIM —  Watch  me.     How  much? 
HAL  —  All  the  way  as  usual. 

They  laugh.    Hal  holds  out  his  glass.    Jim's  boast 
isn't  vain,  although  he  pours  a  little  too  much. 
HAL  —  You've  spilled  some  over — 
JIM  —  Will  that  hurt  now? 

They  laugh.    Jim  fills  his  own  glass. 
HAL  —  Didn't  pour  too  much  that  time! 
JIM —  No!     Second  trial! 
HAL  —  What's  that  mean  ? 
JIM  —  Nothing. 

Jim  holds  out  his  glass  to  Hal's. 
HAL  —  You're  in  a  hurry. 
JIM  —  Why  not  ? 

[140] 


THE  SILENT  WAITER 


HAL  —  The  situation  waxeth  redundant  ? 

JIM —  Ad  nauseam. 

HAL  —  Mustn't  spill  that,  eh? 

JIM —  No. 

Hal  opens  the  phial  and  pours  several  drops  into 
Jim's  glass,  and  then  into  his  own.    He  raises  his  glass;  so 
does  Jim.    Roguery  flickers  at  mouth  corners . 
HAL  —  Any  toast  ? 
JIM —  Several. 
HAL  —  Plural,  eh? 
JIM —  Plural. 

HAL  —  Better  say  them  all  in  a  row  ? 
JIM  —  Much  better. 
HAL  —  Will  you  give  them  ? 
JIM —  No,  you. 
HAL  —  Let's  take  turns. 
JIM —  All  right — begin. 
HAL  —  After  you,  Jim. 
JIM — Thanks,  Hal. 

Slowly,  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  a  ritual,  but 
with  exquisite  cheerfulness,  they  take  turns  intoning  and 
echoing  toasts,  between  each  of  which,  their  glasses  caress, 
rather  than  clink. 
JIM  —  To  Stella — 
HAL  —  To  Stella — 
HAL  —  To — a  twinkling  star — 
JIM  —  To  a  twinkling  star — 
JIM  —  To — the  whole  sky — 
HAL  —  To — the  whole  sky — 
HAL  —  To  the  earth — 
JIM  —  To  the  earth — 
JIM  —  Twinkle — little  glass — 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


HAL  —  Twinkle,  little  glass — 
HAL  —  To — her — 
JIM —  To — her — 

Pause. 

HAL  —  Any  more  ? 
JIM  —  Yes,  just  one. 
HAL  —  What  is  it  ? 

JIM —  (with  an  effort) — To — him. 

HAL  —  Good  for  you,  old  man.     To  him! 

Pause. 
HAL  —  Shake. 

They  shake  hands  simply. 
HAL  —  So  long — 
JIM  —  So  long — 
HAL  —  Better  luck  next  time — 
JIM  —  Same  to  you. 

They  let  go,  and  smile — a  little  tremulously. 
HAL  —  Ready  ? 

JIM  —  Yes — God  bless  you — 
HAL  —  And  you. 

The  glasses  clink  this  time.  Jim  raises  his  quickly — 
Hal  his  slowly.  Hal  watches  Jim.  They  nod  to  each  other. 
Jim  starts  to  drink,  without  hesitation.  The  glass  topples 
from  him.  Jim  falls  forward.  Hal  nods — shakes  his  head — 
and  then  follows  Jim.  One  cannot  see  them.  A  longer 
pause.  The  waiter  appears  as  before — in  the  same  slow, 
mechanical  way .  He  bows — no ,  leans  forward — and  stretches 
his  hand  up  to  the  shade.  In  so  doing,  he  bends  over,  and 
his  head  comes  into  view  for  the  first  time.  It  is  (if  it  isn't  a 
hallucination) — a  death's  head.  The  head  disappears  as  the 
shade  is  slowly  drawn  down  over  the  window.  Curtain. 


142] 


MONDAY 

M 
A  Lame  Minuet 


To  Six  Ladies  Bloom — 
who  each  loves  her  man- 
notwithstanding — 


MONDAY 

A  Lame  Minuet 
THE  CHARACTERS 

MRS.    JONES 
MRS.    BROWN 
MRS.    SMITH 
MRS.    MEEK 
MRS.    SNUB 
MRS.    WEEDS 

One  of  the  box-like  landings  of  a  New 
York  ^tenement.  There  are  three  apartment  doors — one  in 
the  left  wall,  two  in  the  rear — and  a  dumb-waiter  door  in  the 
right.  Nothing  distinguishes  the  apartment  doors,  one  from 
another,  except  three  cell-like  numerals  and  three  sur-names 
— X,  XI,  XII — and  Smith,  Jones,  Brown.  A  bannister 
connects  the  stairway  to  and  from  the  floor  below  with  the 
stairway  to  and  from  the  floor  above.  Naturally,  the  stair 
way  below  the  level  of  the  onlooker's  eye  cannot  be  seen;  when 
somebody  comes  up  onto  the  landing,  he  does  so — head,  torso, 
legs,  feet — through  an  imaginary  trap-door,  passes  across 
the  front  of  the  scene  and  ascends  the  other  stairway  to  and 
through  an  imaginary  trap-door  in  the  ceiling.  Coming 
down  from  the  floor  above  and  going  down  to  the  floor  below, 
the  sequence  is  perforce  in  the  contrary  order  of  feet,  legs, 
torso,  head.  The  carpenter  should  construct  the  visible  stair- 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


way  along  narrow  lines,  with  generous  spaces  between  each 
step,  and  place  it  at  the  extreme  left  of  the  scene,  so  as  to 
obstruct  the  view  of  the  onlooker  as  little  as  possible.  The 
fourth  wall,  front,  is  not  in  the  least  opaque.  One  must,  as 
it  were,  and  for  the  sake  of  what  transpires,  be  able  to  see 
through  it. 


XI 


XII 


X 


JONES 


Stairway 


BROWN 


Dumb-waiter 


Trap- 
Door 


While  the  play  moves  to  a  sort  of  folk  prose 
there  is  an  undercurrent  rubato  apprehending  an  amorphous 
minuet  or  scherzo  movement  in  which  the  persistent  voices  of 
Mesdames  Jones,  Brown  and  Smith  provide  the  main  themes 
and  the  interrupting  voices  of  Mesdames  Meek,  Snub  and 
Weeds,  the  trios.  The  characters  indulge  a  deal  of  uncon 
scious  turning  about  and  posturing  in  the  suggestion  of  a 
i or  gotten  minuet.  The  steps  are  uneven,  tentative — because 
one  has  forgotten  the  music,  cannot  quite  recall  it,  even 
though  one  would  like  to.  Moreover,  one's  partner  is  absent. 
Try  beating  the  lines  in  three-quarter  or  preferably,  six- 
eighth  time.  If  you  are  ignorant  of  the  fact,  history  will  ad- 


MONDAY 


vise  you  that  the  scherzo  has  superseded  the  minuet.  Still 
better,  throw  away  baton  and  history,  and  attend  the  literal 
present  . 

Mrs.  Jones  emerges  from  Apartment  XI. 
She  is  very  tall  and  very  thin.  She  carries  a  pail  to  the 
dumb-waiter  shaft.  The  pail  is  tall  and  thin.  Garbage 
bulges  out.  Mrs.  Jones  puts  down  the  pail  and  opens  the 
dumb-waiter  door.  As  she  gropes  for  and  grasps  the  rope, 
most  of  her  is  hidden.  The  dumb-waiter  can  be  heard  bump- 
ing  the  sides  of  the  shaft.  Mrs.  Brown  emerges  from  Apart 
ment  XII .  She  is  very  short  and  very  stout,  and  of  course 
her  pail  as  well.  Mrs.  Jones9  voice  is  soprano,  Mrs. 
Browns  bass. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Good  morning  to  you,  Mrs.  Jones. 
MRS.  JONES  —    Good  morning  yourself,  Mrs.  Brown. 

Mrs.  Brown  sets  down  her  pail  and  mops 
her  face  with  her  apron.  The  up  and  down  motion  of  Mrs. 
Jones  and  the  grunt  of  the  rope  beat  time  to  the  ensuing 
speech. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  you  that's  here  first  this  time. 
MRS.  JONES  —    It  is,  but  that's  not  to  my  credit. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Let  me  give  you  a  hand,  I'm  stronger. 
MRS.  JONES  —    I'm  leaner — it's  easier  for  me. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Indeed,  holes  like  that  should  be  bigger, 

or  ropes  like  that  nearer  for  women 
like  me. 

MRS.  JONES  —    It's  a  man-sized  job  this  pulling  and  haul 
ing  away  like  a  seaman  asail. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Men  are  softies  these  days,  it's  a  woman's. 
MRS.  JONES  —    It  is  when  a  janitor's  a  loafer. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Think  of  his  lazy  hide — 
MRS.  JONES —    Down  below  on  a  chair — 

[147] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  BROWN  —  With  his  back  to  the  boiler — 

MRS.  JONES —    His  feet  on  the  furnace — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  His  pipe  in  his  mouth — 

MRS.  JONES —    His  hands  in  his  pockets. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Men  are  women  these  days,  I'm  telling 

you. 

MRS.  JONES  —    My  very  own  husband  is  one,  Pll  confess. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  I'm  telling  you  more — it's  my  husband 

too. 
MRS.  JONES  —    Letting   frail    women    do   grown    men's 

work — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  While  they  straddle  chairs  on  trucks  or  in 

banks! 

Mrs.  Jones  has  stopped  pulling.     Mrs. 
Brown  joins  her.     They  shout  derision  down  the  shaft. 
MRS.  JONES —   Hey  there! 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Mr.  Binns! 
MRS.  JONES —    Mr.  Janitor! 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Mr.  President! 

Except  for  the  echoes — silence.    Mrs.  Smith 
emerges  from  Apartment  X  followed  by  two  small  children 
carrying  bundles  and  empty  milk  bottles.    Her  person  and 
pail  are  a  genial  compromise  between  the  person  and  pail, 
respectively,  of  Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Brown. 
MRS.  SMITH —    Good-morning,  ladies. 
OTHERS —  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Smith. 

MRS.  SMITH —   What's  all  the  to-do ? — 
MRS.  JONES  —   About  nothing — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Nothing? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Men — 
MRS.  SMITH —   What  men — ? 
MRS.  JONES  —    Husbands  in  general — 


MONDAY 


MRS.  BROWN  — Janitors  in  particular — 

MRS.  SMITH —   Oh! 

MRS.  JONES —   You  agree — ? 

MRS.  SMITH  —    I  most  certainly  do! 

MRS.  JONES  —   Women  need  one  another  these  days. 

MRS.  SMITH  —   You  were  here  first  this  time,  Mrs.  Jones  ? 

MRS.  JONES —    I  was,  Mrs.  Smith — 

MRS  .  SMITH  —   Let  me  give  you  a  hand — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Thanks,  but  it's  up  now — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    I'd  have  been  here  myself,  but  I'm  wash 
ing— 

MRS.  BROWN  —  I'd  have  been  here  too,  but  I'm  washing 

myself — it's  that   makes   me   sweat 
like  a  stoker. 

MRS.  SMITH —    I've  these  small  creatures  besides,  yank 
ing  at  me,  like  thread  on  a  spool. 
The  children  huddle  behind  her. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Luckily  mine  are  grown  up  and  at  school. 

MRS.  JONES  —   Lucky  you  two  to  have  any  at  all. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Don't  talk,  Mrs.  Jones. 

MRS  .  SMITH  —   Your  time  will  come — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  you  not  say,  lucky — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   A  man's  more  than  enough — 

MRS.  JONES  —   He's  that  after  Sunday — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  With  the  next  day  Monday — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Wash-day  and  what-not — 

MRS.  JONES —   Tubs  hotter  than  cinders — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Steam  thicker  than  devils — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   The  very  saints  would  melt  in! 

MRS.  JONES  —    I  put  mine  off  as  long  as  I  can — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  There's  less  washing  for  you — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   That  complain  being  barren. 

[H9] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  JONES —   Yes,  but  I'm  thinner,   I've  got    to    go 

slower — heat  makes  me  thinner  faster  than 

you. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  You're  to  be  envied — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   Not  to  be  pitied! 

Mrs.  Jones  lifts  her  pail  with  both  hands. 
OTHERS  —  Can  I  give  you  a  hand  ? 

MRS.  JONES  —   Thank  you — I'm  used  to  this. 

She  lifts  the  pail  onto  the  dumb-waiter. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Think  of  the  pails  that  thing  takes. 
MRS.  SMITH  —   Three  families  on  a  floor — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  each  of  them  large — 
MRS.  JONES —    Except  mine — 
OTHERS  —  Lucky  you! 

MRS.  JONES —    (emerging)  —  Each    pail    stuffed    like    a 

goose — 
MRS.  SMITH —   And  families  like  mine  with  more  than  one 

pail — and  bottles  and  bundles  and  boxes 

besides. 
MRS.  JONES  —   The  smell  of  that  stuff — 

no  matter  the  food — 

is  ever  the  same — who's  next  ? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  After  you,  Mrs.  Smith — 
MRS.  SMITH —   You  were  second,  Mrs.  Brown — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  But  you  have  the  children — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Brats — 
MRS.  JONES —    Darlings — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   Where  are  you,  you  two? 

The  children  suddenly  appear,  rush  to  the 
dumb-watier,  deposit  the  bundles  and  bottles,  reappear,  and 
then  rush  back  into  Apartment  X. 
MRS.  JONES  —    Happy  they — 

[ISO] 


MONDAY 


MRS.  SMITH —   Unhappy  me — 

MRS.  JONES  —   One  looks  so  like  its  mother, 

the  other  so  like  its  father — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Equally  blessed — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Unequally  damned— 
MRS.  BROWN  —  I  get  what  you  mean — 
MRS.  JONES —    I  don't,  Mrs.  Brown — 
MRS.  SMITH —   You  will,  Mrs.  Jones — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  now,  Mrs.  Smith? — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   After  you,  mam! 

Mrs.  Brown  encounters  considerable  dif 
ficulty  with  the  performance  of  pail  and  dumb-waiter. 
OTHERS  —  Can  I  give  you  a  hand  ? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Not  at  this  job — it  helps  me  reduce — 

bending  and  stretching  squeezes  out  fat — 
MRS.  SMITH —   You're  not  that — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Thanks,  Mrs.  Smith. 

She  emerges  with  a  profound  sigh.     Mrs. 
Smith  has  moderate  difficulty  with  the  rite. 
MRS.  SMITH  —   This  stuff,  as  you  say,  has  its  smell,  Mrs. 

Jones — 

MRS.  JONES —    Its  stench,  I  should  say — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Fine  words  don't  improve  it — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   And  no  matter  the  food — 
MRS.  JONES  —   One  can't  grow  used  to  it. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  What  was  your  Sunday  dinner? 
MRS.  JONES —    Roast  ham,  apple  sauce, 

potatoes  and  peas — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Roast  lamb,  caper  sauce, 

potatoes  and  beans — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Roast  beef,  brown  gravy, 

potatoes  and  squash — 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  JONES  — 
MRS.  BROWN  — 


MRS.  JONES —   And  dessert? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  dessert — 

MRS.  SMITH —   And  dessert! 

MRS.  JONES  —   All  three  were  good  dinners — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  All  three  meant  much  labor — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   All  three  meant  more  garbage. 

MRS.  JONES  —   What's  the  good  of  a  Sunday? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  the  day  of  rest — for  a  man — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   The  hardest  day  for  a  woman — 

MRS.  JONES —    Except  Monday — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  The  day  of  retribution. 

MRS.  SMITH —   No  matter  the   meat,   the  greens,   the 

sweets — 

Monday's  the  same  and  smells  the  same — 
But  the  bigger  the  meat,  the  greens,  the 

sweets — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   The  heavier  the  load  of  the  pails  and  pails. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  the  day  of  clothes  to  wash — 
MRS.  JONES —    Where's  it  all  come  from? 
MRS.  SMITH  —   And  the  day  of  dust  to  sweep — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Where's  it  all  go? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  of  sewing  and  mending — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   What  good's  it  all  do? 
MRS.  JONES —   With  next  Monday  the  same,  and  the 

next! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  A  woman's  an  angel — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Sewing  her  wings — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Mending  her  husband's. 
MRS.  JONES  —   If  it  wasn't  for  Sunday — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Monday'd  be  lighter — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    If  it  wasn't  for  his  bigger  dinner — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Monday's  garbage'd  be  smaller — 

[152] 


MONDAY 


MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  not  the  children — 
MRS.  SMITH —    So  much — 
MRS.  JONES —   As  the  men — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  the  men — 
MRS.  JONES  —   As  you  say — 
MRS.  SMITH —   We  all  say! 

Mrs.   Smith  looks  from  behind  the  door. 

The  three  exchange  nods. 
MRS.  SMITH  —   Anything  else  to  go  down? 
OTHERS  —  No,  blessed  be  the  Lord — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Be  the  devil! 

Mrs.    Smith   begins   to   lower   the   dumb 
waiter.    As  before,  the  metronome. 
OTHERS  —  Can  I  give  you  a  hand  ? 

MRS.  SMITH —    Going  down's  easier. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  God's  grace  on  that! — 
MRS.  JONES —    Saves  us  marching  down — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Garbage  indeed  is  less  evil  than  food — 
MRS.  JONES  —   That  we  march  up 

one  flight,  two  flights,  three — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Long,  heavy  flights — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Though  it  might  be  all  four — 
MRS.  JONES —   You're  an  optimist,  mam — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Well,  mightn't  we  be? — 
MRS.  JONES  —   The  women  above? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Mrs.  Meek,  Mrs.  Snub,  Mrs.  Weeds? 

One  more  flight  would  reduce  me  com 
plete — 
MRS.  JONES —   Three  are  enough  for  a  woman  that's 

thin — 

MRS.  SMITH —    With  her  arms  clutching  bundles — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Three,  maybe  four  times  a  day! 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  SMITH —    It's  the  men  ought  to  do  it — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  They  sitting  in  offices — 

MRS.  JONES —    On  top  of  trucks — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Or  on  stools  chopping  tickets! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Yours  still  chopping? — 

MRS.  SMITH —   Yes — yours  still  a  clerk? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Adding  sums  any  fool  could  add — 

MRS.  JONES  —   And  mine  drives  his  truck — 

with  his  clay  in  his  month — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Like  our  janitor — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Who  ought  to  be  down  below — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Pulling  the  rope  for  you — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Blessed  be — there's  an  end — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Even  to  ropes — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  To  hanging! 
MRS.  SMITH —    It's  the  men! 
OTHERS  —  It's  the  men! 

Mrs.  Smith  comes  out  and  shuts  the  door, 
She  faces  the  others,   arms  akimbo.      They   imitate  [her , 
Pause. 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret? 

They  draw  closer. 
OTHERS  —          Tell  us. 
MRS  .  SMITH  —   Can  you  keep  it  ? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Like  an  oyster — 
MRS.  JONES —   A  clam. 
MRS.  SMITH  —    My  man's  no  longer  content — 

with  the  food  I  feed  him — 

that  I  climb  our  stairs  with — 

prepare  for  him,  cook  for  him — 

lay  under  his  nose! 
MRS.  BROWN  —  That's  no  secret — 

[154] 


MONDAY 


MRS.  SMITH  — 

MRS.    JONES 

MRS.    SMITH  — 


MRS.    BROWN 


MRS.   JONES  — 


MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 


SMITH  — 
BROWN  — 
JONES  — 
SMITH  — 
BROWN  — 

JONES 

SMITH 

BROWN  — 

JONES 

SMITH 

BROWN  — 

JONES 

SMITH 

BROWN  ~ 

JONES 

SMITH 


Eh? 

That's  just  like  mine — 

Mine  says  yesterday — 

sweet-like  and  cute-like — 

'Do  they  slaughter  nothing  now 

but  beef  at  the  butcher's  ?' 

Mine  was  still  cuter, 

perking  and  piping  up — 

'What's  become  of 

chickens  and  geese — 

have  they  grown  out-of-date  ?' 

'You  don't  have  to  prove 

to  my  palate' — says  mine — 

'that  a  pig  has  disguises — 

I  know  them  as  well 

as  I  know  you,  my  dear!' 

They're  a  trio— 

They're  that — 

They'd  go  in  a  choir — 

They're  good  enough — 

Innocent — 

The  cherubs! 

What'll  we  do  about  them  ? 

What'llwedo? 

What'll  we  do? 

Do  you  know  of  anything  ? 

Do  you  ? 

Do  you  ? 

Have  you  thought  about  it  ? 

Have  you  ? 

Have  you  ? 

Not  by  myself — 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.    BROWN Nor  I 

MRS.  JONES —   Nor  I. 
MRS.  SMITH  —    But  now  that  there's — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Three  of  us — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Three  of  us — 
MRS.  SMITH —   We  can  put  our  heads  together — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Come  closer — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Yes,  closer — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   And  fix  them — 
OTHERS  —  Fix  them. 

MRS.  SMITH —   Anybody' d   think   my   man's   an   alder 
man — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Mine's  a  congressman — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Mine's  a  senator — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    With  five  thousand  a  year — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Ten — 
MRS.  JONES —   Twenty! 
MRS.  SMITH  —   What'll  we  do  about  them? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  What'll  we ? 
MRS.  JONES  —   What'll  we? 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Do  you  know  of  anything? 

MRS.  BROWN Do  yOU  ? 

MRS.  JONES —  Do  you? 

MRS.  SMITH Sh! 

OTHERS Sh! 

MRS.  SMITH —   There's  somebody — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Coming  up — 
MRS.  JONES —   The  stairs! 

They  separate  stealthily  and  retreat  to  their 
doors.     A  woman  gradually  comes  up  through  the  trap 
door.     She  carries  several  small  bundles. 
MRS.  SMITH —   Ah,  Mrs.  Meek — 

[156] 


MONDAY 


OTHERS  — 

MRS.    MEEK 


MRS. 

SMITH  

MRS. 

BROWN  — 

MRS. 

MEEK  

MRS. 

JONES  

MRS. 

MEEK  

TRIO 



MRS. 

SMITH  

MRS. 

MEEK  

MRS. 

BROWN  - 

MRS. 

MEEK  

MRS. 

SMITH  

MRS. 

MEEK  

TRIO 

MRS.    MEEK 


MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
MRS. 
TRIO 
MRS. 
TRIO 
MRS. 
TRIO 


SMITH 

BROWN  - 

JONES 

SMITH 

BROWN  - 

JONES 

MEEK 

MEEK 

MEEK 


It's  only  Mrs.  Meek — 

Yes,  only  me. 

They  gather  about  her. 

Still  climbing  mountains  ? — 

Or  golden  stairs  ? 

I'm  trying  to  catch  up — 

With  your  vision  of  God  ? — 

My  sight  of  food  prices! 

Oh! 

Set  down  your  bundles  and  rest. 

I  need  no  rest  from  these — they're  little, 

They  don't  look  over  heavy. 

Bologna,  salad,  rolls,  tea. 

What  may  they  be  for  ? 

My  lunch  and  my  man's 

after  washing  and  sweeping — 

Ah! 

Bundles  used  to  be  bigger — 

when  my  man  had  his  job — 

lugging  hod  up  skyscrapers. 

He's  still  out  of  sky-work? 

Lets  you  do  the  housework? 

Lets  you  tramp  up  and  down  stairs  ? 

In  and  out  of  closets  ? — 

Out  of  stoves  ? — 

Out  of  tubs  ? 

He  has  to — 

Has  to  ? — 

He's  still  sick  a-bed — 

Oh! 

That's  how  he  lost  his  job — 

Of  course . 


157 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  MEEK —    Got  the  lumbago  and  all — 
MRS.  SMITH —    I  see — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  To  be  sure — 

MRS.    JONES Just  SO. 

MRS.  MEEK —    My  boy  has  a  job — 

but  what  they  pay  him 
doesn't  pay  prices — 
pays  them  one  day — 
but  the  next  day  can't — 
they've  jumped  up  again — 

MRS.    SMITH Out  of  sight 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Now  you  see  them — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Now  you  don't. 

MRS.  MEEK —    I  says  to  the  grocer — 

MRS.  SMITH —   The  thief — don't  I  know  him? — 

MRS.  MEEK —    And  to  the  baker — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Don't  I  know  that  deceiver? — 

MRS.  MEEK —    And  to  the  fishman — 

MRS.  JONES —   That  back-sliding  crab! — 

MRS.  MEEK —    What's  to  become  of  us  all 

with  you  all  poking  up  prices  ? 
MRS.  SMITH  —    What  did  they  say? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  What  blarney? — 
MRS.  JONES —   What  gas? 
MRS.  MEEK —    What's  to  become  of  us  all 

with  you  all  unable  to  pay  them  ? 
MRS.  SMITH —   That's  nice  of  them — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Sweet  of  them — 
MRS.  JONES —   Thoughtful. 
MRS.  MEEK  —    It's  hard  enough  for  us 

to  get  stuff  to  sell, 

let  alone  you,  mam,  to  buy  it. 


MONDAY 


MRS.  SMITH  —    Doesn't  it  grow  any  more? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Are  the  cows  all  dead? 

MRS.  JONES  —    The  grass  all  gone? 

MRS.  SMITH  —   The  earth  quit  sending  up  greens? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  The  sea  up  fishes  ? 

MRS.  JONES  —   The  trees  down  fruit? 

MRS.  MEEK —    They  don't  say  that — 

MRS.  SMITH —   They  don't,  eh? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Don't  they? — 

MRS.  JONES —   The  dears? 

MRS.  MEEK —    But  they  do  say — 

MRS.  SMITH —   They  do,  eh? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Do  they? — 

MRS.  JONES —   The  lambs? 

MRS.  MEEK —    Sugar's  two  cents  higher  to-day — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Butter's  three — 

MRS.    BROWN EggS  four 

MRS.  JONES —   Cheese  five — 

MRS.    MEEK Milk 

MRS.  SMITH —   Yes,  milk — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Yes,  yes,  milk? — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    For  milk  we'll  have  to — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Go  back  to  our  own — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   If  we  have  any  left — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Any  children  to  nurse — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  That  aren't  grown  up — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Or  have  any  coming! 

MRS.  MEEK —    It's  not  alone  climbing  stairs — 

MRS.  SMITH —    It's  climbing  shopkeepers — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  consider  the  stuff 

they're  so  good  as  to  sell — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Skimpy  here — skimpier  there — 

[159] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  SMITH  —   Little  meat  on  it — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Mostly  fat — 

MRS.  JONES —    Mostly  bones! 

MRS.  SMITH —   And  shall  we  tell  you,  Mrs.  Meek? — 

MRS.  MEEK —    What,  Mrs.  Smith? — 

MRS.  SMITH —   The  secret? — 

MRS.  MEEK —    The  secret? 

MRS.  SMITH —    Lumbago  or  no  lumbago — 

MRS.  MEEK  —    Lumbago  or  no  lumbago? — 

MRS.  SMITH —    It's  our  husbands — 

we  have  to  climb! 

Husbands  ? 

Husbands! 

If  they  weren't  so  lazy — 

(indignantly) — Mine  isn't  that! — 

So  good  for  nothing  whatsoever — 

But  lounging  on  chairs — 

Or  lying  in  beds — 

Mrs.  Meek  draws  away  and  starts  for  the 
stairs. 

MRS.  MEEK —    How  dare  you? 
MRS.  SMITH —    We  dare  anything — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Everything— 
MRS.  JONES  —   And  then  something! 
MRS.  SMITH —    Run  along,  Mrs.  Meek — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  There's  but  one  more  flight — 
MRS.  JONES  —    You're  not  far  from  Heaven — 
MRS.  MEEK —    What  are  you  up  to? 
MRS.  SMITH  —   We'll  tell  you  some  time — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Come  and  see  us  to-morrow — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Or  Wednesday— 
MRS.  SMITH  —   You  wont  find  us  climbing  husbands — 

ri6ol 


MRS.    MEEK 

TRIO  — 

MRS.    SMITH 

MRS.    MEEK 

MRS.    BROWN  — 

MRS.    JONES 

MRS.    SMITH 


MONDAY 


MRS.  BROWN  —  Nor  they  climbing  us — 

MRS.  JONES  —    Nor  children  either. 

Mrs.  Meek  begins  to  edge  up  the  stairs. 

MRS.  MEEK —    Are  you  daft? 

MRS.  SMITH —   No,  mine's  an  alderman — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Mine  a  congressman — 

MRS.  JONES  —    Mine  a  senator — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    But  you  wont  see  us — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Climbing  presidents — 

MRS.  JONES  —    Or  kings — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Or  emperors! 

MRS.  MEEK —    Good  morning! 

MRS.  SMITH —    Good  morning — 
OTHERS —  Mrs.  Meek! 

Mrs.  Meek  vanishes.     Mesdames  Brown 
and  Jones  consult  Mrs.  Smith. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  What  are  we  up  to? 

MRS.  JONES  —   Yes,  what  are  we? — 

MRS.  SMITH —   That  woman's  soft — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Of  course,  but — 

MRS.  JONES  —   To  be  sure,  but — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    She's  one  of  your  faithful — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  One  of  your  doting — 

MRS.  JONES —   One  of  your  knee-benders — 

MRS.  SMITH —    She  hasn't  the  blood — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  The  backbone — 

MRS.  JONES —   The  spine — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   To  go  on  strike! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  On  strike ? 

MRS.  JONES —   On  strike? 

MRS.  SMITH —   Like  us  women! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Us  women ? 

[161] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  JONES  —    Is  that  what  we're  up  to? 

MRS.  SMITH —    Isn't  it? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  (doubtfully) — I  suppose  so — 

MRS.  JONES —    Suppose  so. 

MRS.  SMITH —    (aggressively) — Well? 

OTHERS Well  ? 

MRS.  SMITH  —   What's  happened  to  you? 

OTHERS To  US  ? 

MRS.  SMITH  —    Have  you  pulled  in  your  horns? 
OTHERS  —  N — no. 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Then  why  do  you  stand  there — 
like  apes — like  frogs  ? — 

MRS.    BROWN Apes  ? 

MRS.  JONES —    Frogs? — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Doing  nothing — 

OTHERS  —  Nothing  ? — 

MRS.  SMITH —    With  your  mouths  open — 

OTHERS  —  Open  ? — 

MRS.  SMITH —   Open — saying — nothing! 

OTHERS —  Eh? 

Pause.     The  two  mouths  actually  open  and 
say  nothing.    Mrs.  Smith  explodes  with  ironic  oratory. 
MRS.  SMITH  —    It's  not  my  husband's  name  I've  taken — 

I  was  a  Smith  when  he  took  me  from 
home — 

his  cousin — if  you  must  know. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  What  does— 
MRS.  JONES —   That  mean? 
MRS.  SMITH —    It  means  that  the  Smiths 

are  more  plentiful 

than  the  Browns  or  the  Joneses — 

it  means  that  the  Smiths 

[162] 


MONDAY 


OTHERS  — 
MRS.  SMITH - 
MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  SMITH - 
MRS.  JONES  - 
MRS.  SMITH - 


MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  SMITH - 
MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  SMITH - 


MRS.    JONES 


rule  America — 

it  means  that  the  Smiths 

don't  give  in  to  anybody — 

don't  crook  their  knees 

to  kings  or  to  presidents — 

it  means  that  the  Smith  woman — 

the  bravest  in  Christendom — 

doesn't  turn  yellow  for  any  man — 

not  even  her  husband! 

Oh! 

It  means  the  Browns  do — 

It  doesn't! — 

It  means  the  Joneses  do — 

It  does  not! — 

Mister  Brown,  the  congressman — 

your  little  clerk  with  his  little  figures — 

figures  he  adds  for  a  boss — 

minus  the  miserable  wage  he  pays — 

Worse  than  miserable — 

That  clerk  airs  himself — 

Like  a  prime  minister — 

Him  roasting  what  you  set  before  him — 

calling  for  chickens  and  geese 

when  it's  ham  you  yanked  from 

the  oven — burning  yourself  to  cinders! 

him  with  his  wage — 

it's  that  makes  it  ham — not  chicken! — 

him  lifting  his  nose — 

you  bending  yours ! 

And  mine — 

my  Mister  Senator — 

him  gracing  a  truck  all  day, 

[163] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


with  nought  but  a  horse 

as  dumb  as  himself  to  drive — 

fancying  himself  higher  than  Caesar — 

on  five  dollars  a  day! — 

him  expecting  me 

to  show  him  squab 

and  pheasant  and  quail 

on  five  dollars  a  day 

and  no  sign  of  a  raise! 
MRS.  SMITH —   You  see,  Mrs.  Brown? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Of  course  I  see — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Mrs.  Jones  does — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Of  course  she  does — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    She's  smarter  than  you — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  She's  not! — 

MRS.    SMITH Much! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Not  much! 

Mrs.  Brown  squares  off.     So  does  Mrs, 
Smith. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Well,  mam? 

MRS.    SMITH You'll  do. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Much  obliged. 
MRS.  JONES  —   How  about  me? 

MRS.    SMITH —     YOU  tOO. 

MRS.  JONES  —    Much  obliged. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  But  how  about  you? 

MRS.    SMITH —     Who? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  You,  Mrs.  Smith? 
MRS.  SMITH —   How  dare  you? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  (hotly) — I  dare  anything — everything! — 
how  about  you  and  your  talk — 


MONDAY 


MRS.  SMITH  — 
MRS.  BROWN  — 


MRS.  SMITH  — 
MRS.  JONES  — 
MRS.  SMITH  — 
OTHERS  — 
MRS.  SMITH  — 
OTHERS  — 
MRS.  SMITH  — 
MRS.  BROWN  — 


talking  like  a  lord  over  me  and  Mrs. 

Jones  ? — 

what  about  you  and  your  man — 
him  with  his  alderman  gait — 
on  a  ticket-chopper  salary — 
what  about  that — will  you  please  tell  us 

that? 
Eh? 

How  about  you  feeding  him  on  that  ? — 
we  don't  talk  big,  we  talk  small — 
you  ask  us  what  we're  up  to — 
now  it's  us  asking  you — 
a  Brown  of  the  tribe  of  Brown — 
it's  me  asking  you — 
a  Smith  of  the  Smiths — 
rulers  of  the  earth — 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ? — 
tell  us  two — 

Mrs .  Jones  of  the  Joneses — 
not  rulers  of  the  earth — 
and  me  of  the  Browns — 
not  even  rulers  of  Avenue  A — 
what  are  you  going  to  do 
that  we  can't  do?    Anything? 
Well. 
Well? 

I've  got  to  think  about  it. 
So? 

I  haven't  thought  of  anything  yet. 
Oh! 

Have  you? 
Have  we  ? 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  JONES  —   Have  we? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  That's  grand — 

MRS.  JONES —    Impudent! 

MRS.  SMITH —   This  only  came  up  to-day — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  it'll  come  up 

to-morrow  and  Wednesday, 
Thursday  and  Friday, 
Saturday,  Sunday — 

MRS.  JONES  —   And  Monday  again! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  They'll  scratch  it  on  your  gravestone — 

MRS.  SMITH —   What'll  they  scratch? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  That  when  you  get  through 

lifting  your  garbage  on  elevators — 
which  you  do  very  nicely — 
and  get  through  jawing  us — 
which  you  do  nicer  still — 
trying  to  get  us  to  strike — 
to  turn  against  our  husbands — 
leave  them — jilt  them — who  knows  ? 

MRS.  SMITH —   Mrs.  Brown! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  You'll  crawl  back  to  cell  number  ten, 
and  your  washing,  dusting,  sweeping, 
cooking,  setting  table,  scrubbing, 
making  your  beds  and  unmaking  them — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Mrs.  Brown! 

MRS  .  BROWN  —  Without  so  much  as  a  chirp  or  a  whimper — 

MRS.  SMITH —   Madam! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Madam ? 

MRS.  SMITH —   You're  a  liar! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  So  are  you! 

Mrs.   Jones,   whose   reach   is  fortunately 

much  longer  than  her  neighbors',  interposes  as  they  close. 

[166] 


MONDAY 


MRS.  SMITH  —    I'd  have  pulled  your  hair  out — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  I'd  have  pulled  yours  could  you  spare  it — 

MRS.  JONES —    Ladies! 

MRS.  SMITH —   Your  rats  would  come  out — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Your  wig  would  come  off — 

MRS.  JONES —    Ladies! 

Whether  from  exhaustion,  or  from  lack  of 
further  initiative  or  invention,  the  ladies  desist. 
MRS.  JONES  —    I'm  ashamed  of  you — 
MRS.  SMITH —    So  am  I — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Same  here — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Sorry — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Sorry  myself . 
MRS.  JONES  —    We'll  never  conquer  this  way — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Not  together — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Nor  separate. 
MRS.  JONES  —   The  men  will  rule  us  all  our  lives — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   And  all  other  women — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  The  rest  of  creation. 
MRS.  JONES  —   Women  have  never  stuck  before — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Not  very  long — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Not  long  enough. 
MRS.  JONES  —    Men  stick  together — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Like  fleas — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Like  lice. 
MRS.  JONES  —   That's  how  they  prevail — 
MRS.  SMITH —   They're  cute — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Sly — 
MRS.  JONES —    Exactly! 
MRS.  SMITH —   Now,  Mrs.  Jones? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  What  do  you  say? 
MRS.  JONES  —   Let  me  see. 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  SMITH  —   Have  you  got  it? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Let's  have  it! — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Not  yet — just  a  moment. 

OTHERS  —          Oh! 

MRS.  JONES  —   Let  me  think — 

MRS.  SMITH —   Wait — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Don't  think  yet — 

MRS.  JONES —    Why? 

MRS.  SMITH  —   There's  somebody  else — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Coming — 

MRS.   JONES  —     Up? 

The  women  retreat  as  before.  Another 
woman  comes  up  through  the  trap-door.  In  some  slight 
variation,  she  is  better  dressed  than  Mrs.  Meek,  and  carries 
larger  bundles.  She  passes  in  front  of  the  others,  nods  a 
little  and — 

MRS.  SNUB  —     Good  morning. 
TRIO  —  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Snub. 

She  starts  up  the  stairs. 
MRS.  SMITH —    What's  your  hurry? 
MRS.  SNUB  —     No  special  hurry. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Is  your  man  home  already? 
MRS.  SNUB  —     Mr.  Snub  never  comes  before  noon. 
TRIO  —  Oh! 

MRS.  SNUB  —     You'll  excuse  me — 

I  haven't  done  my  washing  yet — 

and  with  Mr.  Snub  coming — 
MRS.  JONES  —   You've  got  to  hurry — 
MRS.  SNUB —     You  see? 
TRIO  —     .  We  see. 

MRS.  SNUB  —     Good  morning. 
TRIO —  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Snub. 

[168] 


MONDAY 


Mrs .  Snub  vanishes .    Open-mouthed  pause . 
TRIO  —  Mister — Snub! 

MRS.  SMITH  —    Did  you  ever  hear — 

the  like  of  that  ? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Did  you  ever  behold — 

such  airs? 
MRS.  JONES  —    She  sweeps  by — 

like  a  lady  no  less — 

MRS.    SMITH —     A  witch — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  On  a  broom! 

MRS.  JONES  —    She's  got  climbing  to  do — 

OTHERS  —  Like  us — 

MRS.  JONES  —   A  floor  higher! 

MRS.  SMITH  —   And  washing  to  do — 

OTHERS  —  Like  us — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Just  as  filthy  as  ours! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  cooking  and  garbage — 

OTHERS  —  Like  us — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Yet  she — gives  herself — airs! 

MRS.  SMITH  —    She  thinks  living  above  us 

is  being  above  us — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  That  next  to  the  roof 

is  next  to  the  sky — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Next  to  God. 
MRS.  SMITH  -      Shall  I  tell  you — 
MRS.  JONES —   The  secret? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Do,  Mrs.  Smith! — 
MRS.  JONES —    Mrs.  Smith,  do! 

MRS.  SMITH —    You  know  that  her  man's  a  bank  clerk ? — 
OTHERS  -  Yes — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   That  he  works  in  the  neighborhood? — 
OTHERS  —  Yes,  yes — 

[169] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  SMITH  —   That  that's  why  he  comes — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  At  noon — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Like  a  lord? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  That's  it  ? — 

MRS.    JONES Is  it? 

MRS.  SMITH  —    It  most  certainly  is! 

Reflective  pause. 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Isn't  one  clerk  like  another? 

Isn't  mine  one  as  much  as  hers — 

though  mine's  a  bill  and  hers  a  bank? — 
MRS.  JONES  —   And  is  a  clerk 

higher  than  a  driver  ? — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Or  a  ticket  chopper  ? — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  not  I — would  say  so! 
MRS.  SMITH —    But  she — 
MRS.  JONES —    Her  ladyship — 
MRS.  SMITH —    She'd — 
MRS.  JONES —    Say — 

MRS.    BROWN So! 

MRS.  SMITH  —    A  bank's  an  institution — 

MRS.  JONES  —    With  tons  of  money  in  it — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  More  than  anywhere  else — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    But  what's  Mr.  Snub  got/to  do  with  it  ?— 

MRS.  JONES —    It's  not  his — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  the  bank's — 

MRS.  SMITH —   The  stockholders' — 

MRS.  JONES —   The  depositors'! 

MRS.  SMITH —   Though  I  and  my  man 

haven't  a  bank  account — 
OTHERS  —  Not  I  and  mine — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    How  should  we  ? — 

OTHERS HOW  ? 

[170] 


MONDAY 


MRS.  SMITH  —   The  money  in  banks 

belongs  to  depositors — 
poor  folk  richer  than  us — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Not  to  bank  clerks — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Nor  to  bank  clerks'  ladies 
who  give  themselves  airs — 

MRS.  SMITH  —    Pass  us  on  the  stairs — 

MRS.    BROWN BOW 

MRS.  JONES  —   And  say,  good  morning. 
MRS.  SMITH —    One'd  think  him — 

upstairs  in  an  attic — 

if  you  please — 

MRS.  BROWN God 

MRS.  JONES  —   Almighty — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Himself — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  her — 
MRS.  JONES —    Misses — 

MRS.    SMITH God 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Almighty! 

MRS.  JONES  —    My  man's  no  senator — 

though  he  is  a  truck  driver — 

but  he's  my  man — 

and  as  good  as  any  other. 
MRS.  SMITH —    Better,  Mrs.  Jones — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Miles  better — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Thanks — so  are  yours — 

Mrs.  Smith — Mrs.  Brown! — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Alderman  or  no  alderman — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Congressman  or  no  congressman — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    Chopper  or  no  chopper — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Clerk  or  no  clerk — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Your  men — 

[171] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  SMITH —   Are  miles  better — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Than  hers. 

MRS.  SMITH  —    Do  we  give  ourselves  airs  about  it? 

OTHERS —          No! 

MRS.  SMITH  —    But  we  don't — do  we — 

look  down  on  ourselves  for  it  ? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  I  should  say — 

MRS.    JONES Not! 

MRS.  SMITH  —    Not  that  we're  proud — 

of  cooking  and  garbage — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Washing  and  ironing — 
MRS.  JONES —    Sweeping  and  dusting — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Or  complain — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Or  grumble — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Or  balk — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   Or  praise  our  husbands  for — 

MRS.    BROWN For— 

MRS.  JONES —    For — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Their  low  wages — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Or  high  wages  either — 

MRS.  JONES  —    Praise  them  or  blame  them — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Or  blame  them  so  much — 

that  it's  them 

that  give  us 

our  cooking  and  garbage — 
MRS.  BROWN  -  -  Washing  and  ironing — 
MRS.  JONES  —    Sweeping  and  dusting — 
MRS.  SMITH  —    But  at  the  same  time — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  other  times — 
MRS.  JONES-      All  times — 
MRS.  SMITH —    Let's  be  careful — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Careful — 


MONDAY 


MRS.  JONES  —    Ever  so  careful — 

MRS.  SMITH —   This  might  be  a  trap — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  A  snare — 

MRS.  JONES  —   The  devil  behind  it — 

MRS.  SMITH —   That  woman  the  bait — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  The  bacon— - 

MRS.  JONES —   The  cheese — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   And  us  the  lure — 

MRS.  BROWN  — The  victims — 

MRS.  JONES —   The  mice! 

MRS.  SMITH  —    So  let's  think  about — 

what  we've  been  thinking  about- 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Go  straight  on — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Thinking  about  it — 
MRS.  SMITH —   And  not  be  easy  on  men — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Overlook  their  faults — 
MRS.  JONES  —   Their  sins! 

MRS.    SMITH —     But — 
OTHERS But 

MRS.  SMITH —   Well,  I  don't  know — 
OTHERS  —          You  don't  ? — 
MRS.  SMITH —   Do  you,  Mrs.  Brown? 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Let  me  think — 
MRS.  SMITH —   You,  Mrs.  Jones? — 
MRS.  JONES —   Let  me! 

MRS.    SMITH —     Well? 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Wait! 
MRS.  JONES —   Wait! 

MRS.    SMITH —     Sh! 

OTHERS  —          What's  that  ? 
MRS.  SMITH —    Somebody's — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Coming? — 

[173] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  JONES  —   Up? 
MRS.  SMITH —    Down! 

They  retire  again.     A  woman  comes  slowly 
down  the  stairs.     She  is  in  mourning.     The  trio  retire  still 
farther.     Slow  colloquy. 
MRS.  SMITH —    It's  you — Mrs.Weeds? 

MRS.    WEEDS Yes. 

MRS.  SMITH  —   Wouldn't  have — known  you  at  first. 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Where  are  you — bound  for? 

MRS.  WEEDS  —  The  florist. 

MRS.  JONES  —   How  sad. 

OTHERS  —  So  sad. 

MRS.  SMITH —    I  only — heard  about  it — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Last  night — 

MRS.  JONES  —    My  man — saw  the  crepe — 

MRS.  SMITH —    In  the — vestibule — 

MRS.  WEEDS  (passing  before  them)  — Yes? 

MRS.  SMITH —   Was  it — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  The  influenza — 

MRS.  JONES —    Got  him?    - 

MRS.    WEEDS Yes. 

MRS.  SMITH —    How  terrible — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  It's  everywhere — 
MRS.  JONES  —   These  days — 

MRS.    WEEDS Yes? 

MRS.  SMITH —   When — will  it  be? 
MRS.  WEEDS  —  Wednesday  morning. 
MRS.  SMITH —    So  sad. 
OTHERS —          So  sad. 
MRS.  SMITH —   May  I — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Can  I — 

MRS.    JONES Could  I 

[174] 


MONDAY 


MRS.  WEEDS 
MRS.  SMITH  - 
MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  JONES - 
MRS.  WEEDS 

TRIO 

The  trio  have 

MRS.  SMITH - 
MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  JONES  - 
MRS.  SMITH  - 
MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  JONES - 
MRS.  SMITH - 

OTHERS 

MRS.  SMITH - 
OTHERS 

do  the  others. 

MRS.  SMITH - 
MRS.  BROWN 
MRS.  JONES  - 
MRS.  SMITH  - 

MRS.  JONES  - 
MRS.  SMITH  - 


MRS.    JONES 


—  Thanks,  friends,  nothing. 

—  Couldn't  we — 

—  Send  up — 

—  Some  flowers? 

—  Yes. 
Thanks. 

Mrs.  Weeds  descends  slowly  and  vanishes, 
grasped  door  knobs.     Whispered  colloquy. 

—  She's  got — 

—  Nobody — 

—  Now. 

—  Not  a  soul — 

—  To  look — 
-   After. 

—  Poor  man — 
Poor  man — 

—  Poor  woman — 
Poor  woman. 

Mrs.  Smith  comes  forward  excitedly.     So 
Quickened  tempo. 

—  There's  poor  Mr.  Weeds  gone — 

—  And  poor  Mr.  Meek — 

—  Down  with  lumbago! 

—  And  it  was  only  last  night — 
my  man  had  such  a  cough — 

—  I  could  hear  him  through  our  wall — 

—  There's  no  knowing — 
what'll  happen  to  a  man — 

with  the  draughts  he  sits  in  on  stations  — 
A  man  on  a  truck — 
with  the  wind  blowing — 
every  which  way — 

[175] 


PLAYS  FOR  MERRY  ANDREWS 


MRS.  BROWN  —  Or  a  man — 

indoors  all  day — 

getting  no  air  whatever — 

swallowing  dust — germs — 
MRS.  SMITH  —   The  poor — 

MRS.    BROWN Poor 

MRS.  JONES —    Dears! 

MRS.  SMITH  —   What'll  we  do? — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  What'll  we ? — 

MRS.  JONES —   What? 

MRS.  SMITH  —    Let  me  think — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Let  me — 

MRS.  JONES —    Me! 

They  stop — look  at  each  other — stare.    Sud 
denly,  from  each  apartment,  the  sound  of  a  buzzer. 
TRIO  —  What's — that  ? 

MRS.  SMITH —    Must  be — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  Mr.  Binns — 
MRS.  JONES  —   And  the  dumb-waiter. 

MRS.    BROWN Who'll  gO? 

MRS.  JONES  —    I've  the  chills — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  The  creeps — 

MRS.    SMITH I'll  gO. 

Mrs.  Smith,  followed  by  the  others,  goes  to 
the  dumb-waiter  door  and  opens  it.     With  evident  relief, 
she  shouts  down  the  shaft. 
MRS.  SMITH —   Oh — Mr.  Binns — a  little  higher! 

The  rope  creaks. 
MRS.  SMITH —   That'll  do— 
MRS.  BROWN  —  The  dear  man — 
MRS.  JONES —    He's  always  there — 
MRS.  SMITH —    So  dependable! 


MONDAY 


They  take  their  pails,  shut  the  door   and 
retreat,  rather  than  go,  towards  their  apartments. 
MRS.  SMITH  —   I  must  get  to  my  washing — 
MRS.  BROWN  —  And  then  run  down  stairs — 
MRS.  JONES —    For — my  man's  dinner! 
MRS.  SMITH  —   What  are  you  having  to-night? 
MRS.  JONES  —   Chicken — or  goose — or  something! 

MRS.    BROWN At  SUCh  pHCCS  ? 

MRS.  JONES  —   Mr.  Jones  pays  them — 

MRS.  SMITH  —   So  does  Mr.  Smith — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  Mr.  Brown — no  matter — 

MRS.  JONES  —   How  high — 

MRS.  SMITH —   They  go! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  And  Pll — 

MRS.  JONES  —   Cook  them — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Broil  them — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Roast  them — 

MRS.  JONES  —    Fry  them — 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Hash  them — 

MRS.  SMITH —    Stew  them! 

MRS.  JONES —   Sundays! 

MRS.  BROWN  —  Or  Mondays! 

MRS.  SMITH —   Or — Tuesdays! 

They  chuckle — nod — and  vanish. 

CURTAIN 


[177] 


OF  THIS  EDITION  FIFTY  COPIES  ARE  PRINTED 

ON  HANDMADE  PAPER  AND  FINISHED  SEPT., 

1920,  OF  WHICH  THIS   IS   No.   00.    SIGNED  BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50™-8,'63(D9954s4)458 


Kreymborg,  A. 

Plays  for  merry  Andrew 


Call  Number: 

PS3521 

R55 
P6 


313497 


